


let go of empty dreams

by corrupted_voracity



Series: joker's corruption [2]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bottom Kurusu Akira, Bottom Persona 5 Protagonist, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dubious Consent, Dubious Morality, Dubious happy ending, Emotional Manipulation, From Good to Bad, Hurt/Comfort, I think this counts as weird Slow Burn, Light Angst, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Mild Persona 5 Royal Spoilers, Minor Character Death, Porn With Plot, Possessive Behavior, Rough Sex, Sequel, Stockholm Syndrome, Top Akechi Goro, Unreliable Narrator most of the time, Violence, akeshu - Freeform, mostly plot with only some porn though
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:01:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 153,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25497247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corrupted_voracity/pseuds/corrupted_voracity
Summary: Akechi keeps Akira trapped inside of his palace after their performance.Longing to change their fate, Akechi intends to drag Akira down with him into the beautiful abyss that is chaos.or: How Goro Akechi turns Akira Kurusu from good to bad.
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Amamiya Ren, Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist, Akechi Goro/Shadow Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Shadow Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira
Series: joker's corruption [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1808734
Comments: 494
Kudos: 566





	1. turned off exit light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I ask you to please read the notes, seeing as they contain a bit of background information or other stuff that might be important (for each chapter or the story overall)!
> 
> First of all - thank you for your patience and kind comments. This is the sequel to _the selfish wishes your mouth can't say_ (previous work of this series) and can be read as a stand-alone, but if you want what I think is decent smut with a bit of building plot that leads to this, I'd recommend reading the prequel!
> 
> Most of _let go of empty dreams_ is already written, so it will **DEFINITELY** be finished and not abandoned. A quick warning: this will contain a lot more plot than actual smut, so be prepared!
> 
> I will (try) keep this note short and put the most at the end. Very mild spoilers for Royal!
> 
> **WARNINGS FOR THE OVERALL STORY**
> 
> First: Akechi is **NOT** a good person in this fic. He's manipulative down to the dot. This is NOT a redemption fanfic or a fanfic where the tag 'goro needs a hug' applies. I'd fathom he needs a lot more than just a hug. If this is not your thing, please don't read any further. Akechi will do anything to achieve his questionable goals and visions, and in here he'll drag Akira into his shithole. This fic will go into a darker direction. So please be aware of that. If possessive and manipulative Akechi is your thing, please be my guest.
> 
> I wouldn't call the smut later on actual rape, but it will be very to mild dubious consent for the longest time.
> 
> This is definitely more action packed, so it will contain violence and wound description. I will give a warning on these chapters, just like with the smut so you can skip if it makes you feel uncomfortable.
> 
> Akechi is 18 in this, Akira still 17 which equals into underage stuff. Yeah.
> 
> This work will **not** contain major Royal Content, seeing as I wrote the prequel without playing through Royal. Therefore, none of the reworked confidant route dates with Akechi have actually taken place. I will still take Inspiration from it though, and include some elements of it. However, Maruki and Sumire did _not_ happen here. Joker gets to keep his grappling hook, though.
> 
> The Phantom Thieves aren't portrayed in the best light here, more of that at the bottom note :)
> 
> **NOT BETA READ**
> 
> Title taken from **Obsession** by EXO

###  November 16th, Wednesday

Akira is beautiful like this.

A deep exhaustion written all over his usually so apathetic face, a delicate vulnerability in the way he subconsciously snuggles closer to Akechi.

His hands itch to touch Akira again, to do more than just holding him, but a slightly more pressing matter is in need of his attention first.

His Shadow turns, and Akechi sees his gaze lingering a bit too long on Akira.

Akechi beckons him closer to swap places regardless, irritation shortly reeling its head before approval alleviates it when Shadow Akechi drapes his long, white military cape around them, making only tousled black strands peek out from the makeshift cocoon. Akechi allows himself to mourn at the loss of direct warmth, but inwardly shakes his head, concentrating.

It’s an awfully soft (and surprisingly indulging) gesture for his other self, but from the few conversations they've held, Akechi knows that they share an unsurprising amount of traits. Possessiveness naturally being one of the most prominent.

Further playing into that are the last bits of haze and pleasure slowly, but surely crawling out of his system. One of the things that are left behind is, among other things, the budding resentment for anything further associated with the thieves.

But the contentment, the knowledge of having claimed Akira right in front of them is still there, simmering within him like the aftermaths of a wildfire. Akechi is alive, a feeling only comparable to when he lets Loki take over, ripping shadows apart like death is the only solution to the world.

He shifts, runs a hand through damp hair. It had been quite the satisfying experience to let his friends look at something they’ll never be able to get their hands on anymore.

Akechi took away something all craved in varying degrees, but now that the performance is over, the countless shadows clearing out after they’ve gotten their show, there is absolutely no need for the Phantom Thieves to linger.

This current, susceptible vulnerability of Akira is something reserved only for _his_ eyes.

They’ve taken enough of Akira as it is.

As Akechi struts towards the edge of the stage, he takes delight in the way their faces distort in rage and indignation to hide the guilt that happily feasts beneath.

“You,” he hears Nijima grit out first, “have no shame.” The venom in her voice is considerably weaker with how remnants of tears mar her cheeks.

Akechi feigns hurt by putting a hand to his heart, making sure his teeth are gritted and eyes downcast in a solemn, dejected expression. “Your words truly wound my heart, Nijima-san.”

“Wound my ass!”

Ah, Sakamoto is as aggravatingly loud as ever. The redness on his face does not minder that the least, appearing to contribute even more to his already overdue existence. “-raping Akira like that and making us watch- You’re absolutely fucking _sick!_ ”

Akechi lets a laughter loose reserved for shows where hosts crack extraordinarily pathetic jokes. “So this is what it takes to get you to curse for real. Fathomable enough, I’m afraid.”

At his offhanded comment, Sakamoto picks up the fight against his restrains again, only to loose the remarkable fervor within the next ten seconds of uselessly struggling against them. He slumps back against his seat, expression crushed, but no less accusing and angry. “How- how are you so calm? Like, do you do this regularly you asshole? What are you, a fucking-”

“Ruyji!”, Nijima hisses. The pressed tone is enough to interrupt the blond. “I get that you’re angry, we all are! But yelling at Akechi like this will get us nowhere!”

The idiot should be thankful for her. The implication alone that he’d lower himself to touch other people is enough for Akechi to imagine Sakamoto’s head severed from his body.

The most recent exception (while also being the only one that will ever exist) is nestled safely within his Shadow’s arms just a few feet away.

Akechi’s mind wanders nonetheless, but where he felt resentment about touching a person longer than necessary before, Akechi now finds himself unable to even conjure such a revolting image.

How disgusting.

A scenario much more pleasant involves a certain set of people buried six feet under, but Akechi has control, and if there’s a thing that pleases him more than killing off scum who deserve it, it’s letting them alive to consciously suffer for a lifetime.

Nijima’s face is still red for various reasons, but she seems to be the most composed out of the five present. Her eyes are brewing, but clear as they stubbornly hold his gaze, much different than Okumura who wouldn't even face him, head adamantly averted. Nijima still adjusts in her seat every half minute or so, indicating she must experience some sort of discomfort that had only begun after Akechi had begun touching Akira.

She’d been diligently sitting still before, and satisfaction curls within Akechi's chest like it belongs there.

“What do you hope to gain from this, Akechi? What are you planning to do with us? What do you want from _him?_ ”, she asks, as if her silly questions hold any worth in this place.

The detective supports his chin with an index finger and a thumb, closing one eye as if only starting to think about it now.

“Rest assured,” he mumbles, voice light and polite. “I won’t kill you.”

There is still distrust and hesitation in their eyes, but the relief shining through is practically graspable.

Akechi wants to laugh at their naivety. With such ignorance, they’ve most likely monopolized an entire country’s luck in order to survive until now. He can't comprehend how Akira has gotten so far with those imbeciles by his side.

It only speaks for _Joker's_ competence. 

Akechi can’t stop the small smile lifting the corner of his lips. “In fact, I think I'll even let you go. Quite generous from me, isn't it? Considering what you’ve all done to Akira.”

“You have not earned the right to say his name so casually like that,” Kitagawa’s deep voice states. “Especially not after what you've done.”

The stains around Kitagawa’s pants despite the dark material are the most obvious out of all, and Akechi wonders if he came by watching alone. Wouldn’t be an unlikely scenario with his fixation on visual aspects, but nonetheless a pathetic display.

His only saving grace along with Okumura is his ability to be less of an annoyance than their other members, keeping to the quiet and observatory side in conversations. Unlike Takamaki or Sakamoto, they also don’t try to touch him, which makes them far more tolerable than the previously mentioned.

Sakura is usually a weird in-between, and something he generally likes to keep away from.

They’re still one of the many roots to his many problems. “That,” Akechi begins and stops momentarily to let his voice turn colder, losing the plastered, friendly detective-façade that had already been forlorn during the sex, “would imply that _you_ earned it. Please, don’t make me laugh.”

It still seems to catch the thieves off-guard at seeing him practically switch personalities, but Akechi supposes he can’t quite blame them. Most of their attention must have lied on Akira instead of himself, and that’s a concept he can comprehend well enough.

It was the purpose of the show, after all.

It’s probably their first time seeing more honest parts of Akechi, something usually reserved for quiet hours around Akira and definitely not for them, but it gets increasingly hard to not make his distaste known the longer Akechi looks at their visages.

He turns his head and looks into the direction of his Shadow. After a short moment of non-verbal communication, Shadow Akechi gets up and scoops Akira into his arms. He lifts him with ease, maintaining the curtain of white around them to further prevent eyes from prying.

Shadow Akechi turns his back to the remaining audience, nodding at his counterpart.

“What do you even know about him?” Akechi begins again.

He can’t quite keep the cynical bitterness from invading his voice. It’s a familiar tone that rolls off his tongue easily. “I spent the least time with him out of all of you-”, admitting that hurt, but it will get better, _better_ , “-and yet I can state with certainty that I know him more than you do.”

Blaring harshness comes a lot easier when he doesn’t need to pretend.

They flinch – a delightful reaction – and a few open their mouths to protest, but Akechi fully turns his back on them as a sign of blatant dismissal, and cognitive Loki manifests next to him in swirls of red and black, effectively preventing any other protests from getting through trembling lips.

Even after encountering the actual Loki they still can’t handle the presence of a cognitive persona? To think they were so foolish as to enter his palace. Maybe he didn’t disregard them enough. They seem to be more of a hindrance to Akira than he originally thought.

Knowing a headache would come his way if the Phantom Thieves were to stay a second longer inside of the now mostly empty hall, Akechi turns to cognitive Loki with a plastered smile on his face. “Please escort our guests out, would you?”

The monochrome being cackles in response, twirling on top of its sword. Before it can carry out the uttered order, Akechi intercepts by pointing towards somebody.

“Leave that one here. I have… different plans for them.”

Akechi gives them a cheery, closed-eyed smile as cognitive Loki begins to manhandle them out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _regarding the content of the fic: akechi refers to their last names mostly because it feels… off to me whenever he uses their first names ingame._
> 
> This is pretty short, but the next chapters will be more chunky.
> 
> To get back on the Phantom Thieves:
> 
> While I came to love all of the characters in different ways (just Makoto is the only person I genuinely have to say I dislike somewhat, poor writing I guess), I noticed that not in all, but most dialogue options you could always say something hesitant or insecure.
> 
> Even if you could slap your friends in the face and say it's not a good idea and you don't want to do this, they would still bawl you over like a whole truck and just kinda force you to do it anyway. And as we all know, Akira is not only the boyfriend of half Tokyo, he's also the therapist of half Tokyo. And sometimes I really, really felt all the responsibility they put on me, how each one of them always kept coming back to me with their problems as if Akira is the only person in this whole, wide world.
> 
> Various other incidents as well. How easily the plan of deceiving Akechi could have backfired, how fast they wrote of Akira's wounds and hardships while being interrogated.
> 
> And then throw in Akechi, one of the (hands-down) most competent characters of the series. After laughing my ass off at the dart skills of the Phantom Thieves member, Akechi's level of difficulty to get his baton-pass rank to level up had me eating dust. I swear they push Akechi to be the only one able to keep up with Akira, and vice versa. It's fucking canon at this point.
> 
> There's this line in the engine room where he asks Joker how he could possibly have gotten so far with such idiots by his side - and, to be honest, I really ask that myself a lot of times as well. The line hit **deep.**
> 
> Again, do not misunderstand: I love (most of) the characters! But for the sake of the story, I had to twist them a little bit, make their selfishness that shines through at times become more apparent so that it would fit for the grand, grand plot I envisioned. Please forgive me for that and don't take it too serious!


	2. tremble in the dark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finished Royal a few days ago. My life feels empty waiting for a sequel on Akeshu because of the post-credit scene of that one ending, but the chances of that happening are as high as me getting a dragon for a pet. I really want one.
> 
> Anyway - the promised chapter, half-assedly beta-read by myself.
> 
> **A bit of violence and gore during 19th November, but nothing too descriptive I'd say.**

###  November 17th, Thursday

The way Akira slightly squirms under Akechi’s gaze is a subtle trait hinting that neither his mind nor body have forgotten earlier night's touches, reminiscent of what happened, yet guilty with reminder.

His eyes are clear though, coal having locked with wine the moment Akechi stepped into the room, eyeing what his captor holds.

Two glasses of water sit atop a tray, the liquid barely moving as Akechi steps closer to the bed, stopping short of the invisible line where Akira would have gone as tense as a wire upon crossing.

Akira’s grip is still tight, sheets forming a small torrent of crinkles around the spot where he grips them, and Akechi tilts his head a little.

"I assure you that neither is poisoned."

Laughing dryly, Akira reaches for the glass nearest to him. Only the tips of his fingers tremble.

"I know," is all he says.

Approval fills Akechi upon not seeing his offer rejected. Unnecessarily forcing obvious information into Akira is something he'd like to avoid for the moment.

Akira chugs down the glass in one go, putting it back onto the tray. Akechi pointedly looks at the other glass and then back at Akira, but he just shakes his head, black strands dancing shortly before they fall lifeless again.

Akechi takes his own glass, leaves the tray on the table and sits down, eyes raking over Akira’s body in a more analytical way. His thief outfit is back on, but Akira’s mask is missing, along with his weapon. 

The first is due to the courtesy of his palace, but the lack of his trademark dagger doesn't fool Akechi.

Akira most likely has it on the inside of his sleeves or in a hidden pocket, but it's more of a feeble attempt at maintaining a sense of security rather than a mean to harm and disable.

Akira can't afford to wield it against him given the obvious difference in their position, and he knows that _Akira_ knows.

The silence that continues enveloping them both is neither awkward nor tense. It's empty, lacking any major distinction. 

“How are you feeling?” Akechi's simple question is like a drop in still sea, creating too many ripples for the eye to count.

It takes a while for Akira to answer, but the sheets are less crinkled when he opens his mouth. “I thought you disliked small-talk.”

Akechi's lips curl a bit.

“I certainly do. However, I was genuine when I asked you that question, and it was not meant to stir a random, spontaneous conversation simply to pass time.”

There’s a bit of noise as Akira shifts, folding his legs under him from their previous, awkwardly sprawled position.

“Then- I’m fine. As… good as I can be after that, I suppose.”

Akira breaks off, averting his gaze so that pink can taint his pale cheeks a pretty color.

Perhaps Akechi should have ordered Kitagawa to stay behind as well.

His level of skill would certainly be capable of capturing the innocent embarrassment that causes Loki to encourage the wisps of desire working their way under his skin.

Akechi also knows that he’ll most likely end up killing the artist for real before he could even set a line on paper.

Still - how Akira could flirt with half Tokyo and yet be bashful when it comes to the actual topic is something Akechi can’t comprehend. It’s an endearing fact nonetheless, and the knowledge that Akechi was Akira's first despite his allegedly experience satisfies him beyond imagination.

“You’re surprisingly behaved. I expected you to show more defiance.”

Akechi had hoped that he wouldn’t, knows Akira is smarter than that, but that doesn’t mean he wasn’t expecting it.

It goes without question that Akechi did force parts of himself on Akira yesterday before he became wonderfully compliant, but Akira is the type to see his own flaws first and forget the other's, too fixated on what _he_ could have done different, _better._

His feelings are probably already in disarray, Akira's mind sharp enough to recognize that his resistance died too fast to be justified by regular arguments.

A feeble, budding feeling able to compete against months, perhaps even years of built up convictions.

Small, written off as insignificant and barely paid attention to until it was too late, showing its colors in the most coincidental situation.

It will be a delightful experience, breaking Akira free of everything that's holding him back.

Said male seemed to have snapped out of his embarrassment, blush gone by the time Akechi focuses back on the present.

Now that he had some time collecting his thoughts, Akira's eyes went from clear to their usual inquisitive intensity, trying to make sense of the person he's directing his gaze to.

Piercing, with a little bit of indecisiveness that serves to mitigate some of the sharp edges Akechi would like to trace his fingers on.

It seems like Akira found what he was looking for when his eyes narrow a minuscule amount. “Something tells me that… rebellion could result in unpleasant consequences.”

Akechi takes a sip of his water, acknowledging the calm, but flat taste that floods his mouth. He frowns inwardly.

Not as exquisite as the sensation of blood melting on his tongue.

Warmth edges along Akechi's skin, reminds his fingers how it felt to trace over silky, burning flesh. 

Yesterday had opened doors and possibilities Akechi hadn’t quite considered until recently. He isn’t a person used to physical touches or the pleasures of flesh (he had watched porn once in his life and that merely for educating purposes), but when he touched Akira without his gloves for _real_ under white headlights, it ignited a wildfire so large within him that only seemed to grow hungrier with time.

Akira has always been some kind of exception to everything Akechi knows, after all.

And the lack of genuine, physical contact accumulated since he gained real consciousness seem to have caught up to Akechi in less than a few days, seeing as Loki suddenly breaches his thoughts, telling him how wonderfully Akira would cry if Akechi were to take him right now.

Akechi's thirst might not be entirely quenched, but it would do for now. He's here for other things.

“You’re perfectly right," Akechi says, not unlike a purr. "My Shadow's personas are stationed outside, and Loki is roaming for intruders. While your friends are exceptionally incapable most of the time, I doubt they’re foolish enough to enter so soon again.”

 _You won’t go anywhere without my permission_ goes unsaid, but not unheard.

“So Loki really is your other persona,” Akira mumbles more to himself than to Akechi. He looks more complacent than startled. “I’ve always known there was more to you. The way you fought your supposedly first shadow without ever having done it before - even a natural would have showed signs of struggling at least a little bit.”

Akechi lifts one eyebrow. “Are you doubting my abilities? Even if it would have been my _actual_ first time using a persona to fight, I can assure you that my performance would have surpassed even lofty hopes as those.”

Akira huffs, half amused, half put-off. "You said a similar line back then."

"Because it's true."

Irritation Akechi knows all too well quickly flashes in Akira’s eyes, but grim realization replaces it soon enough.

Akira leans backward, supporting his weight with an outstretched arm, but keeps the other lax in his lap. Most likely the arm where he keeps his dagger.

“So you really could have killed us all during our time in Sae’s palace, huh?”

Akechi neither confirms nor denies, setting aside his glass. 

The silence that befalls them now is charged with suspense, neither of them moving or saying anything.

Akechi is still mildly perplexed about the nonchalance Akira is willing to display, and except for a few twitches of his limbs and the apprehensiveness always accompanying muted gray, Akira behaves like he’s talking to Akechi over the counter with an apron around his torso.

Red gloves move to dig into black pants, and Akechi's eyes lower momentarily, only to flicker back up again. There is genuine worry in Akira’s eyes now.

Akechi hates it.

“Are they- did you let them go?”

Jealousy and bitterness join the churning in his stomach, but Akechi seizes control back immediately, just like he banned Loki from distracting his thoughts again.

Akechi blinks once, face remaining perfectly blank despite the beginnings of a fire burning underneath. “I killed them.”

Gray eyes become black in a heartbeat.

Akira regards him for several more seconds, and Akechi doesn’t quite know whether to feel disappointed or proud when it fades.

“No. You didn’t.”

Akechi can't help but lean a bit forward. “What makes you so sure?”

“You’re the type to… drag it out when you enjoy it." Flickers of embarrassment set Akira off, but he catches himself in the same second he faltered. "You drink your coffee like that, too.”

A cold smirk blossom on Akechi's face.

Akira isn’t wrong, but he's only ever seen Akechi drink it when it's in _his_ presence, which alone contributes to about 85% of the reason why Akechi stays longer in LeBlanc than everyone else.

Often Akechi could cover it up well enough under the pretense of having a few notes on the counter, laptop displaying documents in a font size too small to be legal as he reads and types the hours away.

But when Akechi didn’t unpack his briefcase, simply occupying his usual spot on the counter for hours while it rested against the stools of his chair, there had never been a good reason as to why he lingered around for so long.

Except a certain, treasure stealing barista, of course.

It’s a wonder that Sakura-san has never questioned his long stays that dragged well into the evening, refilling his cups for free most of the time despite Akechi's polite protests.

Then again, Akechi never tried to be particularly subtle, the café owner most likely already knowing Akechi's reasons for coming and staying, but trusting Akira's judgement and responsibility at keeping a friend-customer past closing hours.

Akechi doesn't know if Akira tried to see too much at the same time and therefore not noticing why Akechi began to stay longer and longer, or if he knew and just refused to acknowledge it out of _duty._

But aside from that, Akira is right. Akechi doesn't have a lot of things he genuinely likes to do, but he tries to savor the few things he _does_. 

How Akira manages to disclose more about Akechi with a few cups of coffee than others do with an endless amount of direct questions....

Very, very irritating.

Commendable nonetheless.

Akechi doesn’t bother to suppress the widening of his smirk, but lifts his glass again to distort it. “Yes. I did not kill them, even if surprisingly convincing parts of me wanted to.”

It looks like Akira wants to ask more about his friends, but settles with a different question, momentarily satisfied with the knowledge that his little group is safe. Akechi would call it naivety if it weren't for Akira being who he is.

Black eyebrows furrow, the motion nearly lost under a mess of bangs. “What are your plans for me, then?”

“I’m very certain you can pinpoint that already,” Akechi says, making a vague gesture around them.

The room is relatively small, but still lavish. The large bed Akira is sitting on has expensive looking, red silk sheets, and curtains can fall from its frame above if one wishes them to.

A night table is to the bed’s right in the corner, a shelf with books on the opposite side, and an empty dresser next to it. White walls blend seamlessly with the sparse decoration consisting of an equally colored, empty vase on the night table.

Akira’s room is located on the third (and last) floor of his theater, far, far in the back. There are more luxurious rooms reserved for guests littered throughout the palace, but they’re simply too big to Akechi's liking, and most importantly, they're not next to Akechi's own. 

Akechi watches as Akira takes in his room consciously this time, sweeping his gaze over a round, wooden table that holds the tray, to the detective’s form that is occupying one of the relatively simple kept chairs.

There’s a red door right at the entrance that leads to a well-stocked, large bathroom of subtler color, but Akira’s eyes seem to be locked onto his, not moving past him to notice it. 

“You plan on keeping me here.” Akira’s voice is remarkably calm. Stating a fact, not asking a question.

Tracing the top of his glass, Akechi doesn't break eye-contact as he hums low in his throat. 

Akira looks out of a window that isn’t there.

“...for how long?" The faintest of tremors wisp alongside the otherwise flat tone.

Akechi smiles darky.

“That depends entirely on you.”

He has a promise to keep, after all.

###  November 18th, Friday

Akira doesn’t bolt, and neither does he try to escape. It’s something Akechi is not only glad for (seeing as he doesn’t have to inflict unnecessarily punishments on him), but is also vaguely proud over.

Initially he anticipates Akira behaving only for the first days or so where he’d be the most vulnerable in a new environment, still not knowing his or the place's boundaries.

But there’s no alarm, no shadow or persona rushing to get him each time he returns from brief fragments of the real world.

It’s pleasant, to say so the least.

Whenever Akechi steps into the room, Akira is always either reading one of the various books the shelf provides in the most ridiculous position he can manage, curled into an unrecognizable form under more blankets than Akechi recalls the room having, or occupying a chair to have a starring contest with one of the walls.

Most likely reflecting and trying to make sense on what is going on around him.

It’s pretty obvious in Akechi’s eyes, but if Akira wants to pretend to try and figure out the big mystery - well, he'd let him.

Next to being irritatingly unrealistic, it'd be no fun at all if Akira's chains would crumble from the beginning on - Akechi thrives for challenges, especially those regarding Akira.

Sometimes Akira is doing a workout to keep his shape as well, and Akechi isn’t ashamed to admit that he lingers at the door frame on purpose whenever Akira doesn’t notice him in time to stop.

So because Akira is behaving so well, Akechi figures he could bring Akira something more adequate to dress in aside from his thief outfit.

He doesn’t want to keep him trapped inside of his palace forever, but in his current state of mind where it still has troubles properly adjusting, he doesn’t doubt that Akira would try to escape as soon as Akechi would give him a more exploitable opening, no matter how relaxed or content he may seem at the moment.

So Akechi leaves the Metaverse by himself, stuffs some of his own clothes for Akira to wear into a bag, but also walks the shopping streets of Kichijoji to find new ones.

Even Akechi knows that his wardrobe can be particularly dull at times, and turtlenecks really do suit Akira wonderfully.

Akechi isn’t necessarily surprised when Akira refuses them, but is still a bit displeased at getting shut down after he went through the effort of leaving Akira by himself to mingle with terrible, ignorant crowds.

But Akira declined in a polite, soft way that Akechi can’t really bring himself to be mad about it, simply putting the clothes in the wardrobe and knowing they will be worn at some point sooner or later.

He’ll let him have some feeble control if that’s what it takes for Akira to remain obedient.

In retro-perspective it’s an understandable action, though. As much as Akechi keeps to himself, Akira knows has very little control over the situation.

His clothes are one of the few anchors he can still cling to since Akechi didn't and won’t force him to change them (in the end, they’re just clothes after all, even though Akechi really would have liked to see Akira in his garments).

No, Akechi wants him to accept them on his _own_ , admitting one of the many defeats that would come his way.

He probably associates his Joker outfit with the Phantom Thieves' agenda as well, and finds comfort in that cognizance.

 _That_ thought is nearly enough for Akechi to rip off his stupid coat and vest to make a statement.

Aside from that needless annoyance, Akira adapts to his predicament quite pleasantly.

Other people would trash, would fight against the invisible restraints Akechi installed simply because they’d feel like it is obligatory to show defiance when you’re a prisoner.

In order to not look obedient, to retain some of their miserable dignity they’d try to fight back in any way possible, something which Akechi can comprehend well enough, but doesn’t understand from a rational point of view.

The fear of retaliation and consequence is there for a damn _reason_ , only momentarily conquered by a short burst of desperate need to defend meager pride.

Yet they always end up surprised at getting beaten back into submission, some daring to even be enraged about it.

An endless circle in which the captives never seem to realize how utterly one-sided everything is, ultimately leading to the illusion of hope they desperately cling to being shattered all the more brutally given enough time.

Not Akira.

He is by no means here on his own, free will – Akechi isn't delusional -, but he is able to recognize that defying Akechi just because he gives him potential opportunities to do so will result in a lose-lose situation for both of them.

Deliberately hurting the little thief outside of the bedroom is not something Akechi is opposed to, but something he’d rather like to avoid for now.

Violence can only get him so far when the mind is involved, after all.

Oh, Akira is smart. He sees Akechi's reluctance regarding that, no matter how contradicting it may seem at times.

Akira knows that by acting out of line, forcing Akechi to punish him, he'd indirectly hurt the palace owner as well, or would at least be an inconvenience to him.

It'd make decent material for emotional manipulation, were it not for the small detail that makes Akira unable to seize that opportunity and use it to its fullest potential.

No matter how teasingly snarky his comments got as Joker, no matter how much he used to invade his personal space under the pretense of most ridiculous reasons to simply achieve what others hoped to accomplish before Akechi captured him – ultimately, the last thing Akira ever wanted to do is hurt _him._

And what makes it better and so much worse at the same time - Akechi long suspected they know of his plan, had at some point realized that Sakura had absolutely no warrantable reason to grab his phone and gush over his model when she possessed one of the latest versions herself.

And even despite knowing that Akechi wanted to watch his blood splattered on walls and floors, Akira never failed to try and reach out for Akechi.

He wanted to _help_ him, to give up yet another part of himself for Akechi's sake, willing to find out who was - still is - behind all this madness, but foolishly trusting his comrades that a change of heart would be the _better_ option.

It’s a realization he purely despised at first. Akechi doesn't need pity, and most of all he doesn't need help, especially not by under-handed means as to forcefully change one's psyche. 

But the more Akira tried doing what others never bothered to do, the more times Akira showed up, looking hopeful when he spots Akechi in the shopping district and still looking so disgustingly happy during the time Akechi tried deflecting the unknown variable that is Akira by rejecting and declining him over and over again, the more Akechi found his cold resolve cracking.

Edged him to reach out on his own, letting slip more words past his lips in idle phone calls than he intended to.

Akechi found himself slowly accepting Akira’s advances, no matter how much he hated his guts (probably because of that), leading to the point where he craved it, and when Akechi finally realized the true nature of Akira’s relationship with the Phantom Thieves-

He realized that the warmth he desperately wants to himself could be a devastating _fire_ if he were to reach out for it.

Oh, he'd let Akira help him, just not in the way Akira is familiar with.

Akechi would carve Shido out of his own life and the Phantom Thieves out of Akira’s at the same time – and then proceed to mold together both of their broken fates, creating a path only for them to walk. 

It would take a while, and Akechi doesn't have too much time at his hands with Shido's election around the corner, but it would be enough, especially with how differently time works in the Metaverse.

Small steps.

Akira needs to get used to Akechi's constant presence first to continue with his plan- the reason why Akechi respects his captive's personal space rather benevolently, sleeping in his own room every night. 

As he peers over the top of his files to watch Akira turn and toss in his bed, trying to find a comfortable position to nap in, Akechi recalls the nights before the Phantom Thieves found out about his palace's existence.

There had been a lot of weak moments when the cold in his apartment had nothing to do with the temperature, but still shoved an iciness down his throat that had Akechi bursting from the inside out with the need to escape from it all.

The practiced image in his head would reverse, Akira pointing the gun at _him._

It was, of course, a feeble fantasy that his desperate mind sometimes conjured out of spite when he was still in conflict in how to proceed with his newfound infatuation about Akira, and nothing could differ from reality more than Akira wanting to hurt him with his partly conditioned, partly self-induced savior complex.

Akira would rather put a bullet through his own head if it means preventing another’s pain.

It’s seems like that’s all he knows how to do, sometimes.

Always.

Those nightmarish fantasies still had been a rather appealing thought at some point, especially when he did little to block out Loki’s influence and just let his persona feast to its hearts content on more repulsive fantasies and thoughts.

But Akechi now finds it lacking the rush of adrenaline that would usually send his limbs nearly vibrating with cruel anticipation.

Where self-hatred and willful numbness had forced his body to sleep, Akechi’s mind now feels strangely light when he sees the hole of steel aimed at him.

Because his moment of weakness became moments of temptation when the scenery went on, not merely ending with Akira pointing the gun at him.

No, it evolved, continued with Akira then turning the gun around, offering Akechi the handle to pull himself up from his position on the floor so both could aim at their target.

There had been a point Akechi wanted to kill Akira in an interrogation room, leaving a pretty picture for his Phantom Thieves to cry over.

Now he wants Akira to realize how deformed the world around them really is, driven by mundane needs, each clinging to wasted hope to become something they will never be, mismatched and beyond salvation, ignorant on how it mistreated the both of them.

Akechi wants him to see how cathartic it would be to see it burn, to envelope everything in a sea of hellfire that would even make the sky cry red.

Akechi wants him to be there, embracing and devouring what Akechi would offer him, because Akira is starving.

###  November 19th, Saturday

With his credibility as the detective prince, it’s absurdly easy to skip legal procedure and immediately get a certain someone a secluded cell where he’d be kept in solitary confinement.

How ironic for him to be in one instead of Akira.

While the police station isn’t necessarily a prison, merely meant to hold captives temporarily and even less of a place for long-term imprisonment, Akechi only needs to drop a few names with a bright smile on his face to have the officers paling, visibly scrambling to abide to his demands and purposefully trying to ignore the beaten up, unconscious form of a young teenager they should be helping.

And as soon as Akechi is alone with Sakamoto, watching his pitiful frame through the smallest of windows on the heavy door, he pulls out his phone and goes through his history on the Metaverse app.

Like always it feels like diving into cold, murky water before immediately surfacing again, so short that it could be written off as a weird, in-the-moment experience.

But the whole atmosphere is subtly different as Akechi inhales Metaverse air, his detective clothes feeling a little off on more sensitive skin.

The head chief’s palace is a small, ugly thing, not big enough to really earn the title of one, but large enough that its desire had clawed its way out of Mementos, the collective subconsciousness not able to meet its demands any longer.

The detective had stumbled across it on accident while pressing the man for different information three months ago or so, but now it actually comes in handy for the first time.

From the outside it still looks like the normal headquarters, but Akechi knows better.

Neither him or Sakamoto have changed into their Metaverse outfits, and Akechi promptly drags him out of the cell that is now bared open, not caring if the pitiful excuse of a head bumps against corners a few times too many to be considered healthy.

He heads straight to the head chief’s office, ignoring the mumbled greetings of dark figures passing by. There’s a set of stairs only existing inside of the palace in the larger-than-necessary room, leading down into the type of darkness Akechi resists to scrunch his nose at.

He’s been here before, one or two times to get information out of the inmates since it’s easier doing so in the Metaverse sometimes, but like always the descend manages to evoke distaste within him.

The bright walls turn gray and dull, floor dirty and littered with things and fluids Akechi would rather not inspect.

As he navigates through the dimly lit underground, dodging swaying lamps from above that illuminate wet, sometimes even red spots on the walls, the faint sound of shouts and screaming grows louder. 

Some figures pass him, and Akechi wants nothing less but to _not_ evade their broad shoulders and let them bump into him as an excuse to obliterate their existence, but he reminds himself of his goal. 

Previously muffled drunken shouts and cries fully envelope him when Akechi drags Sakamoto into a large, industrial underground hall, cage after cage evenly distributed over the area and containing inmates fighting for what they were worth.

The largest cage and the main attraction to this place is perched in the middle, massive and round, its bars going up until they meet metallic ceiling.

It’s crowded in the way Akechi detests, the number of people gathering around the main cage making it unable for even Akechi’s taller-than-average stature to view who is currently in the process of clawing each-other’s eyes out.

It’s always been abhorrent to watch. There is no class in this, seeing inmates fighting for their life behind solid steel with nothing but trembling fists and forlorn hope.

The dark mass of people around the cage, corrupted and with too much money to spare are howling and screaming, getting off of the vigilant display of desperate violence, going so far as to throw crumpled bills inside whenever a particularly nasty hit accompanied by a gut-wrenching sound.

Oh, Akechi thrives in despair, but only when it’s with a sword in his hand and Loki clogging his field of vision a wonderful red.

Much more tact and artistry involved than this rather ugly display of desperation given form.

He makes a detour around the larger crowds, not keen on getting his body squashed between the distasteful heat of the masses.

It doesn’t take Akechi long to find the Shadow of the head chief, on a lifted section just at the end of the hall on something that probably should resemble a throne, but looks like some run-down torture device that should have gone extinct in the last century.

He's surrounded by a few more menacing looking shadows acting as his guard dogs, but Akechi knows he could obliterate them with a single spell anyway, along with their beloved boss.

The palace is ugly, narrow-minded and nothing but a joke.

Akechi really wants nothing else but to summon Loki and get rid of the pitiful scum around him, but the current head chief is putty and works surprisingly well alongside Shido’s side, making things much easier than having to steadily threaten the police force (in)directly.

They had to replace the leader of the police twice already, seeing as they had the tendency to not always follow through with that they were told.

It takes a bit of negotiation when Akechi unceremoniously kicks Sakamoto's body in front of the head chief, but in the end the greed for more fame and reputation wins out, and the Shadow happily agrees in recruiting a new fighter.

The fact that Sakamoto is already imprisoned in reality on top of being one of the notorious Phantom Thieves plays probably more of a role than Akechi’s disgustingly fake smiles, but it gets the ongoing fight in the middle to stop anyway, and the Shadow lets his lackeys heave Sakamoto towards it.

A portion of bars on either side of the cage slide up, and more shadows dressed as brutes go inside to drag the mangled, nearly unrecognizable bodies of the previous fighters out, carrying them to the other end of a hall to a large, rusty door where they most likely keep the cells for the fighters.

More dead than alive, and with no clear winner.

Akechi wrinkles his nose in disgust.

Taking a step closer, Akechi signals the lackeys to stop for a short while before they can throw Sakamoto in.

There’s a short instance where Akechi almost feels bad for Sakamoto’s fate – but the spontaneous idea that formed while watching the blond trash around in his theater is simply too sweet to pass up on.

The rest of his rather modest sympathy is gone anyway the moment Akechi makes the mistake of taking another look at Sakamoto’s visage, and he dips in Loki’s power.

The palace ruler looks impatient, tapping with his foot repeatedly and already opening his mouth to make his distaste known. Angry, incoming remarks are swallowed when the atmosphere around them grows tighter, nearly nauseating as Akechi pulls more and more power out.

The crowd around them holds their breath, feeling the waves of malevolent darkness sweep over them that makes dread erupt from the bottom of their hearts.

For Akechi, it’s something akin to freedom, complicated thoughts reduced to hurt, kill, obliterate.

But unfortunately that’s not why he is here today.

He grips his head, wills his shaky grin down to focus on only a specific part of Loki’s powers.

Akechi then raises his other hand into the vague direction of Sakamoto, directs its powers to not envelope Sakamoto fully, no, stirs them with threatening precision until he finds what he's looking for.

Once he's done, Akechi pulls himself out of Sakamoto’s mind, out of the endless potential of what he could do, forcefully cutting the connection.

Akechi pats his peacoat down while he straightens, waiting for his fruition to show.

What he had done was nothing short of… experimental, a hypothesis, and for a short amount of time Akechi is disappointed, angry at himself that Sakamoto is still not moving, immobile despite Akechi’s calculations of this scenario.

But then Sakamoto rises with a confused expression, not nearly coherent enough to register what’s going around him, but apparently functional enough that the head chief can’t wait any longer, signaling his lackeys to throw the newest recruitment in.

Sakamoto falls on all fours, still disoriented, and Akechi feels dark anticipation crawling up his spine.

The bars behind him fall down with a harsh, resonating sound. It's still silent, watchful eyes apprehensive and hungry for what might come.

On the other side, a bulky man gets thrown in, biceps larger than Akechi’s shoulder are broad, thighs nearly bursting with restrained power.

There’s a bag on his head, preventing him from seeing more than blurred brown, but Akechi gets the distinctive feeling that he doesn’t need to aim in order for his strikes to be deadly.

Sakamoto’s eyes are frightened, wide, and Akechi lets a trickle of chaos loose. 

There's no countdown, no person stating the rules, just the slowly increasing sound of howls and applause, rattles and shakes of the bars. The storm of noise grows louder around them, enveloping the entire hall once again as it grows to its usual decibels. 

The giant of an opponent roars and begins to charge, each step inducing a bit of tremor on the ground. Sakamoto remains unmoving, hunched over and uncaring of the giant storming towards him.

A loud, inhuman cry of a name cuts through all the noise.

And Sakamoto beats the giant to a bloody pulp, clawing, kicking, biting, every inch of humanity lost for the sole purpose of utterly decimating what he sees in front of him.

He doesn’t hear his victim's screams, the begs that fall from a halfway torn and freed mouth as he takes and takes and takes, drowning in the sea of empowering shouts that come from all around them.

It’s not music to Akechi’s ears, but it’s definitely a much more pleasant sound than what he usually hears when Sakamoto is around.

And judging by the nasty grin that stretches out onto the Shadow head chief’s visage, he clearly likes what he sees, too, not blinking when a few droplets of blood splatter on his own face.

“I must apologize for my earlier hesitance, detective. He’ll make an excellent fighter.”

Akechi doesn’t bother answering, feels his skin itching for a certain other person.

He can’t wait to get out and wash himself of the filth he feels clinging onto him the longer he stays in such a revolting palace, the mere air polluting him.

When Sakamoto’s opponent is nothing more than a scattered pile of flesh and crushed bones on the the entirety of the floor, lackeys too sadistic to stop when the giant was already on the ground and half-dead, there’s an obscenely roar going through the hall again, Sakamoto clawing at his head and chest while he shouts.

It's a rather primal display, but it earns another round of wild applause and howls regardless.

Akechi scoffs, adjusting his gloves. 

Next to him, the Shadow chief looks no less pleased, but furrows his eyebrows as he turns to the already retreating detective. “Who is-”

“That,” Akechi says slowly, in a bright tone as he throws a closed-eyed smile over his shoulder, ”is a name you’d do better not ask about, chief.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> regarding the context: Sakura-san is Sojiro, Sakura is Futaba to clear up misunderstandings!
> 
> As I mentioned before, no major confidant dates happened like in Royal, but Akira still met Akechi several times in Kichijoji. (I can't remember which time frame it was, but I went like a madman to Kichijoji each day in hopes of getting to meet up with him, but I think my rank was already 'too high' for us to advance so I ended up getting like rejected every day…)
> 
> The head chief's palace: While he doesn't necessarily use force on his own inmates directly, he does see the act of shipping them out into the larger prison as sending his own, captured fighters to what could be their death if they're not tough enough (hence the reason why he lets them fight in his imagination). I'm pretty sure the amount of money you receive in that line of work is not proportional to how many prisoners you get, but it still gets the head chief recognition, fame and reputation that equal into 'money' in his palace, also adding into the corruption that takes place behind the scenes.
> 
> Additionally, I have no idea how prisons or politics or whatever actually works in detail, so please forgive me if it does seem inaccurate.
> 
> Chapter two out! I feel confidant so far with the story, and I love the reviews I've gotten. Really, thank you so much! It's super important that you tell me if something feels off, or if a scene should have gone into a different direction. In the next chapter we'll get to see the Phantom Thieves more involved as well, so please stay tuned!


	3. lost looking for you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm way more satisfied with this chapter than with the last. There's barely something I'll ever feel completely good posting about, but I guess what matters most is that I have the courage to publish it even though I'm still not happy with it, no matter how many times I rewrite it? 
> 
> Well, I tell myself that at least. Please enjoy the chapter, and don't forget to leave a comment to let me know your thoughts! It's incredibly important to me to hear whether the stuff I write makes sense to you as well and not only in my head.
> 
> As always, half-assedly beta read by myself only.

###  November 21st, Monday

“You’re spending quite a lot of time here,” Akira says after they finish sharing their (contradicting) opinions on Edgar Ellen Poe’s short stories on a lazy evening.

Sharing because Akira doesn’t indulge Akechi in debating and discussing, something Akechi refuses to be miffed about, but can’t help but feel unsated by anyway.

Akira has never been the one to really initiate a lasting conversation, even less so now, and Akechi is mildly surprised at hearing him speak first.

He lowers the pages of a few profiles he's been skipping over to look at the other. “As you should know, time flows slower in here than in reality.”

Sleeping inside the Metaverse has actually proven to be quite helpful with the lack of sleep in Akechi’s schedule.

He hasn’t bothered to properly calculate the exact difference yet, but roughly estimates two days in the Metaverse to be one in the real world.

It is definitely enough for his eye-bags to reduce to the point where he doesn’t need three layers of make-up to try and hide them – a pleasant discovery, and one that will save him a bit of time in future mornings until they appear again.

He reminds himself to not get too accustomed to this extra, much needed rest.

If Shido or his other dogs were to call him in the middle of the night or worse, break into his apartment because of some god forsaken reason and not see him peacefully slumbering in his bed because Akechi had forlorn sleeping in the real world, he would have a lot of explaining to do.

Some of the scenarios his mind conjures are rather illogical and their like-hood of happening is close to zero, but Akechi knows his habit of preparing for the worst can easily mix with paranoia.

Even the mere existence of a chance is enough to make him prepare for it, and more often than not it proved to be a key factor why he's still alive to breathe the horrid air of this wretched world.

Talk about counter-productive.

Then again, Akechi muses, he could always say he slept over at a _friend's_ (horrible excuse even asinine Shido would sniff out), or simply took a stroll outside at an ungodly hour.

But that wouldn’t explain him not answering incoming calls or texts since he’s in the Metaverse, especially because Shido knows Akechi never silences his phone; the sole exception being interviews or live recording, _and_ when he's on his few, precious days off, like right now.

If his holiday manages to extend a certain length of days, Shido still insists on being able to reach Akechi if issues come up that can't wait to be dealt with, but he supposes that the current success of the campaign and the capture of one Phantom Thief has made his edges a bit... less sharp. 

Shido doesn't do _soft._

“...but yes, you’re quite right. I’ve sent in a request for a short vacation from school and work, although I do need to do something for both every now and then.”

He gestures to the other, occupied side of the table where some notes related to the profiles he's half-heartedly reading through (apparently, someone thought it's a good idea to give the assistant of Sae an assistant) and his laptop lay, the briefcase with a proud, black **A** leaning against the wall.

He had taken two weeks off upon capturing Akira. The headmaster and his homeroom teacher barely care about his attendance as long as his grades remain steadily at the top of his class, and his workplace is indirectly related to Shido anyway, meaning if he convinces the man, there would be no protest from anyone else.

Shido had been a bit harder to persuade, especially with the no-immediate-response-policy, but a picture of Sakamoto – bruised and beaten on the ground, taken just after cognitive Loki helpfully escorted the rest out – convinced him that Akechi has successfully captured one member of the Phantom Thieves, and is now dedicating all of his time to break him for information about the most important piece: their leader.

_They're nothing but cattle anyway_ , he recalls saying to Shido. _They have no backbone without his guidance._

Nothing steadfast that would help them achieve their supposed major goals at least, and it's one of the few phrases he has spoken to Shido that he actually means _and_ are true.

The thought of Shido's expression once Akechi whispers every, little failure Shido managed to accumulate over the years since abandoning Akechi and his mother into his ear excites parts of Akechi he long thought death, and he has to suppress a morbid laugh wanting to cut its way through his throat.

Akechi forcefully stops his train of thoughts, just in time to register Akira tilting his head questioningly.

Since his mask is still amiss, Akechi can freely see the gears turning in Akira's head through his eyes, already working on how to properly act according to the information Akechi gave him.

“Akira,” he says, sighing as he puts his notes away. Not that Akechi really put any, notable effort into evaluating lifeless faces and useless data he'd forget within the next minute since he has no plan on taking on an assistant anyway.

Akira blinks upon his name being called.

“Yes, I will be frequently more absent once my vacation is over, but that does not raise your chances of, ah, how should I call it? Taking detours in the little strolls you're allowed to take in the slightest.”

Akira rubs his neck. “Guilty, I guess.” He doesn’t look contrite in the slightest, but his eyes have widened a fraction as he leans back onto the wall.

It never fails to impress and put-off Akechi how strong, yet vulnerable Akira is at the same time.

Akira is a bit too familiar with looking beneath other masks to find out what bothers them and respond accordingly, but it is telling how many people are unable to do the same, judging by the struggling unfamiliarity in which he handles Akechi reading what is painfully obvious seemingly only to him and no one else.

When Akira lifts his head to meet Akechi’s gaze again, there's a bone-deep exhaustion visible for a half a breath before it's quickly shoved behind deliberate blankness. 

_How,_ Akechi wants to ask. _How can no one see how much you’re hurting when your eyes are being so honest about it?_

He thinks of black glasses, and the ignorance of the world because the fewest people care beyond their own, little bubble. 

Akechi cares for other people even less than the average person he likes to lament about, and while it might seem a bit hypocritical, Akechi's smile as the second detective prince more of a habit than sincerity, the brutal wickedness he kills shadows with is anything but. 

People refuse to see flaws in the perfect image given to them. They only see what they want, judging a person based on their performance and achievements, and once that crumbles to reveal the gaping holes everybody claims knowing about, but not wanting to look at - they avert their eyes, pretending they've never been involved in the first place.

Akechi clenches his fingers, thinks of the vile comments that flooded his social media at Medjed's supposed defeat, only to turn into supporting, _encouraging_ ones after he successfully framed the Phantom Thieves for CEO Okumura's death.

Just like that, their rising, heroic image of the Phantom Thieves shattered, caused by a simple press of Akechi's finger.

In a sense, the reputation _and_ justice of the Phantom Thieves are as fragile as his parading of a detective is.

Superficial at best, non-existent at worse.

"Make sure to study religiously and catch up," Akira drawls, half-heartedly and dripping with sarcasm that doesn't match the neutral expression on his face. "Take your time, please."

"I can assure you my performance in both fields will still be unflawed, even if more than a month without me doing anything passes."

Akechi's gaze lowers to the skin of Akira's throat. Surely enough there are still faint marks from where Akechi had gripped him, not properly healed despite the time that had already passed.

Bruises flatter him quite beautifully, even more so because Akira doesn’t try to deliberately hide them with his collar, either confident enough to wear them despite their origin (which would go against the bashfulness he shows each time Akechi looks too long), or as another point to prove that, much like his clothes, he still has some leverage about his own fate.

Well, it's hard for _Akechi_ to control himself at times.

The fleeting bits of skin Akira’s vest shows when he's hunched over written pages, the slim, but wonderfully toned arms on display when Akira forgoes his coat, or when a shift in blankets reveal his various states of undress - all of those make it hard to not press either his teeth or his fingers into the tantalizing, unintentional offers.

Akechi has few things he deems important enough to really call his own.

His gloves, for example, wonderful for keeping physical contact to a minimum, or his custom-designed briefcase, carrying the results and efforts of his mangled past.

There’s a reason a distinctive, all-telling **A** is proudly splayed across it.

So yes, it does take a considerable amount of willpower to not dig his teeth into pale flesh when the opportunity arises, but the way Akira blushes so prettily and scrambles for the shattered parts of his dignity whenever he feels Akechi’s eyes on his skin a tad too long almost makes up for it.

But he doesn’t want Akira to get the impression that Akechi would be so low as to only be interested in a physical relationship.

Oh, if that were the case, he would have long broken Akira into pieces not even he would have been able to pick up already.

So instead, Akechi consumes with his eyes what he can, only smirking silently when Akira decides to show a bit more reaction by scowling openly at him, rather than just re-adjusting his clothing self-consciously from prying, wine-colored eyes.

And it’s a rather adorable look too, really.

Currently in use, because Akechi had maybe only blinked once or twice since he said something a few minutes ago, relentless with his piercing stare.

It’s good to see the empty look in Akira's eyes gone though, even if it’s now filled with accusing apprehensiveness towards him.

Akechi shakes his head, not nearly feeling guilty for being caught, but rather wanting to clear the fuzziness in his head again as thoughts stroll into other directions. He doesn’t need to look to know Akira is growing red, though.

“You’re blushing.”

“Am not,” Akira huffs like a child, and Akechi chuckles lightly.

“Certainly.”

Just like that, the weird tension in the air is broken.

It’s somewhat domestic, the time they spent together, as if they’re not in a place fabricated of manifested desire.

While Akechi did find himself with nothing strictly to do from time to time before the Phantom Thieves entered his life, he mostly used it to either A) work on his fragile reputation, or B) used it to go cycling or bouldering.

Akira had taken up those free spots of time since a few months now though, and like everything that is related to Akira, it felt like a nuisance first to keep up appearances while getting information out of him, only to turn into the exact opposite.

Opportunities to let some of the artificial detective go.

With or without the Phantom Thieves, Akira would remain and enigma.

Even meeting him the first time on the TV station where Akira had stood up to say that the Phantom Thieves do more than the cops, his glasses had, for once, not reflected the light, enabling Akechi to lock with eyes made of steel in a crowd full of recycled garbage.

It’s not the content of Akira’s words that had gotten through him – no, it was _how_ he said it.

Pure, raw empathy streaked by hardened resolve and untold suffering.

A voice that is heard and followed, but not understood.

Much like his own.

Even from their distance those eyes had shone with a coldness not matching the posture of its bearer at all, unknowingly daring Akechi to loose the coat of his detective persona at once and act on the unspoken challenge.

But those same, piercing eyes had never held any judgment, not when he told Akechi what he thought while maintaining an impressively expressionless face, and not when he asked Akechi why he was keeping him alive instead of killing him.

Back then, Akechi felt Akira’s entire existence as nothing but threatening. It only needed a small, but precisely aimed stone to make him feel like the fortress Akechi tediously built with his bare hands over years was crumbling, so he kept an eye on the first challenger worthy of his attention, initiated a few conversations in the morning hours when both waited for their respective trains to arrive.

Threat has quickly ascended to actual danger when Akechi found out Akira had the same abilities as him – the _exact_ same, multiple personas and all, just without a second Metaverse outfit, but still looking oddly alive while donning the mask of Joker each time he changed personas.

Hurt pride at seeing someone else possessing the same powers as him (albeit not nearly on _his_ level) had blinded him for the first weeks, and it had taken quite a while for him to view past the threat that was Joker to simply see Akira.

Someone he hates as much as he came to respect, someone he wanted to see ruined, but ultimately blossom under his hands.

And even now, like Akechi never planned to put a bullet through Akira’s head and like he never took him on a stage for everyone to see, Akira barely looks any differently at Akechi than before.

Sure, there is hesitance in his moves, always a flicker of reverence when he watches Akechi shift and adjust.

Currently visible as well, like Akira expects more to happen when Akechi lifts a hand, only to relax (and tense again) when it harmlessly grasps one of the drinks on the table.

It’s a vast source of entertainment, watching Akira squirm in various positions with wary anticipation just like he blushes when Akechi stares a bit too long, and sometimes Akechi feels inclined to really reach out and confirm what Akira is so apprehensive of.

But Akechi doesn't mind waiting after he had given Akira a taste of what could be.

The greatest conquests didn't happen within only a few days after all, and victory tastes the sweetest if you've fought _hard._

###  November 23rd, Wednesday

“Have you already filed a missing claim?”

Sojiro gives her a look, but the tense edges aren’t reserved for her.

“Of course I did. Who do you think I am?”

Ann nods, starring down. “I know. I’m sorry. The whole situation just puts me on edge.”

“Don’t stress yourself too much,” Sojiro grumbles as he puts a steaming mug in front of her, then going back behind the counter. “I’m pretty sure the boy is holding up fairly well against that Akechi. I mean, it’s Akira we’re talking about, no? Stubborn boy.”

Ann hums, but she looks into the mug like she wants to drown herself in it.

“A missing claim won’t get us anywhere anyway,” Morgana piques up when he hops onto the table. The gesture goes ignored by the owner of the café.

Sae nods from her position on one of the counter stools. “I know the department specialized for missing cases have already received it, but it’s buried under a ton of others anyway. And with the prime minister’s election going on, people waiting for you to act – nobody really focuses on their work anymore.”

Makoto’s sister had been a recent, but reluctant addition to their group just after they’d been forcefully thrown out of Akechi's palace.

It had been a mere accident as much as it was a confusion – they had entered Akechi’s palace in front of Tokyo’s Special Investigation Department, but when that monochrome shadow had kicked them out, they landed in front of what looked like a district for apartments, stumbling upon a perplexed Sae the same instance they materialized.

Appearing in a totally different entrance location than before is definitely not normal, and something that still needs to be discussed.

Later Sae later revealed that she had been on her way to visit Akechi regarding a matter more serious in their workplace and that the new location had been, in fact, just about in front of Akechi's apartment.

But back then the new surroundings had been a minor detail in comparison to the shocked figure of Sae, openly gaping at them and visibly not trusting her own eyes.

Seeing people pop into existence out of nowhere surely isn’t a phenomenon you just witness everyday, and with the way Sae kept rubbing her eyes and blinking only to saw them still scrambling from the floor, she wasn’t any different.

She also seemed to be quite close to hysteric when she spotted a mangled Makoto beneath the lanky figure of Yusuke.

She had been willing to listen to them after hearing her smaller sister beg in the middle of the street not to tell anyone.

It had taken a lot of hours for her to even believe the rough outlines of their work until now (and a bribing amount of curry and coffee), but seeing as she can’t deny the logic and structure behind their tales (if one ignored the supernatural aspect), Sae reluctantly agreed in trying to help, temporarily giving them the benefit of the doubt, and shoving aside her own indecisiveness of the overall Phantom Thieve agenda she has been exposed to.

Her exasperation after hearing their suspicions over Akechi’s gained fame and rank in contrast to her own, self-earned hard work played into that as well, directly hitting her where it hurts the most.

“Fact is – no natural force could bring us Akira back. Akechi keeps him trapped inside of his palace, a different reality normal people have no access to.”

Ann furrows her eyebrows at Morgana. “We suspected as much, but how can you be certain? He could have brought him to an entirely different place afterwards, or maybe even-”

Sae interrupts her before she can finish the sentence. “No. By what you told me, he seems… fixated on keeping Kurusu. I doubt he killed him, and if he would have turned Kurusu in, the buzz would have been so big that I would have gotten wind of it – even the tightest lips tend to loose over the opportunity of being in the spotlight for a few moments, after all.”

“Yupp. That, and I feel Akira’s presence whenever I venture out far enough.”

“Mona,” Futaba hisses. She was busy with her laptop, but upon hearing that, orange hair flies straight into Yusuke’s face as she whips her head around, making him splutter some strands back out. “We agreed on training in Mementos only before we’d go inside his palace again. Are you suicidal?!”

“Relax! I’m in there for only a few minutes at best, and the smoke bombs you’ve given me always get me out if I feel that persona’s presence approaching. It’s super inconvenient that it’s so strong, but you can also feel its presence miles away once you get used to it.”

“So… Akira is alive?”, Yusuke asks, tentatively. The cat’s tail flickers. “Yes. Additionally to confirming that, it doesn’t seem like we’ll be able to go in again for another week or so.”

“How do you know?”

Futaba makes a dismissing gesture with one hand, and sips on an energy drink with the other. Her eyes are back on the screen, relentlessly looking at things the others will never quite understand.

"Akechi posted an update himself on all of his social medias and blogs, saying he’s taking a break for two weeks. And that was, well, a week ago. I've already send that in our group, though.”

“It’s best to assume that he’s focusing on Akira especially, now that he has him in his grasp.”

Morgana nods at Yusuke as best as he can with his head on his paws, and the possible implication on what Akechi could do has everyone focused on their own self for a minute or two.

The atmosphere is devastatingly gloomy, something Sae can’t fully comprehend due to her lack of interactions with the group and therefor missing the personal sentimental, but the conflicted look of Makoto and the general circumstances are enough for her to understand.

“Well, you guys can’t sit around here, that’s for sure. What do you plan on doing?”

It seems to snap a few out of their thoughts, determination settling into faces like an old habit. “We’ve been training in Mementos, the collective subconsciousness we spoke about,” Morgana says. “We’ll continue doing just that. As much as I hate to admit it – we can’t go back now, not with Akechi practically living inside of his palace and us still being too weak.”

“The shadows won’t be too much of a problem,” Makoto mumbles into her cup. “But that persona really is.”

Morgana makes an affirmative sound. “It would no doubt rip us into shreds. If my hunch is correct, he has two sets of each persona. Cognitive versions from his Shadow, and the real ones.”

“The Loki who brought us out had seemed slightly different than the… one who caught us in the safe room,” Yusuke adds.

Stirring the half-cold liquid in her mug, Ann nods. “I agree.”

“I’ve never seen a persona acting without its wielder past a certain range,” Makoto mumbles. “Not to mention to move so individually. Then again, it’s his palace and the Metaverse, so it’s not that surprising.”

"Well, what if he had _been_ in range already?"

“This is so confusing,” Ann exasperatedly sighs before someone else could retort on the rather implying comment of Haru. She stretches her arms above her head, lowering them with a satisfied groan, her eyes taking on a more serious look. “Does that mean we have to deal with four of those… monsters at some point, cognitive or not?”

Morgana shakes his head. “Not entirely. I think Akechi uses the cognitive versions to guard Akira, and the real Loki to roam. Like I said, I don’t know about Robin Hood, so it might be in a different area altogether or acting as another line of defense.”

“So it would be the best to strike when Akechi is not there and incapacitate those cognitive versions,” Sae mumbles into her hand.

Rubbing his chin, Yusuke lets out an appreciative hum. “It seems like it is in our best interest to wait until his break is over, and then proceed with even more caution inside of his palace. We’ll at least need to be on a level where it is in our ability to incapacitate every major threat long enough for one of us to reach Akira.”

With a flicker of his tail, Morgana stands up and jumps down from the table, looking over his shoulder. “We can start infiltrating again starting next Thursday.” He jumps onto the counter instead, turning and locking gazes with all of them.

“He’ll have to catch up with work and school, so we’ll have bigger operation windows. Even if we can’t bypass those personas and they stay at their post, we might be able to find Akechi’s treasure and steal that - he can only guard so much at once, after all.”

The previously strong tempo stagnates a bit at the mention of their original purpose, air quiet again for a few moments where each person is left to their own thoughts.

Haru softly speaks up from her seat next to Makoto.

“We’ve never talked about it, not even before… but what do you think his treasure is?”

There are collective sighs at that, accompanied by furrowed eyebrows and looks casted upwards.

Ann is the first to guess. “It’s… hard to tell, especially because everything we knew about him turned out to be false...”

“Uhm, a file? His briefcase maybe?”, Haru tentatively comments again. “With his personality, I think it might be something very rational and sophisticated. Sae-san, you work with him regularly, don’t you? Do you perhaps have any clues?”

“Treasure is… something that causes their distortion to form a palace, right?” Upon receiving agreement, Sae continues, tapping at her chin in frequent intervals. “It’s a sort of trigger then… Now that I think about it, I’ve spoken with Akechi so many times, but I hardly made an effort to understand him outside of work.”

She uncrosses her legs and leans forward, expression turning a bit sour at her own naivety towards the detective.

“It’s... really hard to get a hold of him, as you might have already noticed. It extends to our workplace as well. My apologies – I think I’m as clueless as you are, and I don’t want to make assumptions. It’s like I barely know him despite having him assist me so many times.”

“We’re living off of assumptions and gut feeling,” Futaba reminds her, but doesn’t push her to continue. “It’s fine. We can only see it anyway if we know where he keeps it, and when he receives our calling card.”

“Calling card, huh?”

“Let’s not think that far for now. We need to concentrate on the current situation – getting stronger in Mementos. We can start exploring more of Akechi’s palace when he isn’t there,” Morgana says, diverting the attention back to himself.

A round of unanimous agreement goes through the café.

Yusuke throws one arm to the side and puts the fingers from his other hand on his forehead. “I shall use my skills to make us even more cards that will aid us in this battle!”

“Awesome idea,” Futaba says with a distinctive lack of enthusiasm, not bothering to look into his direction. She cackles mischievously as she suddenly slams her laptop close, yanking it under her arms as she stands up. “I’ll continue working on this baby,” she adds, cackles, then darts through the door like a woman possessed.

“I’ll see if I can grow some more plants for us to use,” Haru speaks up in a somewhat somber tone. She doesn’t blush like she usually does when Makoto encouragingly puts an arm around her, rather leans into the hold with a pressed expression on her face.

A few more lighthearted conversations take place after that, but all come to an end after two or three sentences, seeping into the ground like droplets of water in a desert.

LeBlanc feels empty without the person that brought them together in the first place, but it also seems like the only right place to meet up, even if Sojiro is grumbling about the lack of customers when in reality, he’s just as worried as they are.

“So,” the man in question suddenly says with a gruff tone, supporting his elbows on the counter as he leans towards them. “Any news on Ryuji, then?”

* * *

Akechi hides his surprise quite well. The question is rather out of the blue, but nothing he’d put past Akira’s weird quirks that show at the most random intervals. 

“Pardon? I’m afraid I didn’t quite catch that.”

“I could-”, Akira makes nonsense gestures, “cook for us. Sometimes.”

“Is there something wrong with my food?”

The other must be sensing the increasingly icy tone of Akechi, seeing as Akira is wildly waving his hands in front of him. They are bare, Akechi notices, the red leather neatly folded on the night-table.

“N-no! It’s just- it’s quite… bland at times, I suppose.”

Akechi looks down to the discarded wrappings on one left-over chair. An unidentified substance steadily trickles onto the seat, probably sauce that didn’t quite manage to stay inside of the burger.

He scrutinizes his own monster of calories. “Big Bang Burgers are many things, but I hardly believe _bland_ is one of them _._ ”

They’re not the most nutritious food one could consume, that’s for sure, but they serve their purpose quite well. Akechi wants to spent as little time absent from Akira as possible, so if he has to get food, it should be in the most efficient way.

If it happens to be of the company who's CEO he shot and who happened to be related to a certain Phantom Thief member - well, Akira doesn't acknowledge it, and Akechi doesn't want to bring up a pointless conversation.

Akira looks like he wants to protest, but bites into his own burger instead. Seeing as Akira still has a mildly far-away look in his eyes, this must be something that had occupied Akira’s mind for quite a while.

Akechi crosses his legs and leans back into the chair, suppressing a sigh. “Do tell me what you envisioned.”

“It’s just,” the black haired male begins, but stops to chew and swallow properly, a mannerism Akechi appreciates despite being in Japan.

“You can buy the ingredients for me and I’ll cook. No offense but-” He holds up his own wrapping, quickly turning the crumbled paper so that smudges of brown don’t dribble onto the table as well, “Burgers and instant stuff is only healthy in limited amounts, and we’ve exceeded that a long time ago.”

“We both exercise enough to make up for that. “

An exasperated groan from Akira makes the corners of Akechi's mouth twitch. “It’s about principles, Akechi.”

He wants to retort, but frowns halfway through it as Akira reaches for a napkin to wipe off his fingers.

As always, there’s a bite left of Akira’s burger, and Akechi's finger twitch with the need to just shove it inside of his mouth.

“I suppose you have a point. I’m afraid I can’t promise too much, though. The consumption and appreciation for food is something I rarely enjoy, so I tend to be more practical about these things.”

“Don’t you run some kind of food blog?”

Akechi raises one eyebrow. “You do not dwell in social media more than necessary. How come you know of that?”

In response, Akira shrugs, hides his hands under the table where Akechi can’t see them.

“...Futaba told me. She keeps tabs on you, as you might have already noticed.”

The atmosphere grows a bit chillier after that, and Akira averts his head to let bangs shadow what he's thinking.

The conversation is already longer than Akira usually allows it to be, and while Akira did good at dodging the Okumura topic, he mentioned the Sakura girl himself.

Akira's shoulders drive up, a physical, sub-conscious mechanism of his body to remind its owner why Akira shouldn’t converse with Akechi so casually.

Not yet responding, Akechi works the beginning of his irritation at the mention of a Phantom Thief related manner through the rest of his own burger, and reaches for a napkin when he finishes.

“I’m afraid I do not care much for the taste. It’s more to keep up appearances, and having a universally approachable topic has proven to be quite convenient in mundane conversations.”

Akechi doesn’t bother to be evasive about the crafted image of his, especially since Akira has known for a long time that the detective he poses as doesn’t really exist.

Predictably, Akira’s face softens a bit, and Akechi would scoff at the flicker of ~~understanding~~ sympathy if it wouldn't serve to melt some of the ever-present coldness of his heart.

It’s all about efficiency – maintaining his grades while nurturing his fragile reputation, solving actual cases, balancing the Metaverse and the Phantom Thieves on top of that and obeying the wretched man who thinks of him as nothing more than a guard dog, all while making sure that his body keeps up with the mountainous strain he puts it through.

There’s only so much perfectionism Akechi can accomplish with the limited time and mortal body he has, so the most expendable things - sleep and food - usually suffer as a consequence.

Something which, in turn, Akechi compensates with sports he can actually stand when he does find himself with a little bit of time on his hands (but of course that has also drastically decreased with Akira’s persistence in his life. Not that he minds much. But there's still the sleeping issue).

He hasn’t said a single thing of the above, but Akechi is still somewhat sure that Akira heard anyway with the way he looks at him, already having worked through the emotional discord that the mention of Sakura caused and displaying an adaptable face again.

Surely enough, a glint he can't read for once enters Akira's gray eyes.

The lax line of a mouth slightly drag up into a smirk, and Akechi narrows his eyes at seeing an expression that usually belongs to Joker.

“It’s time I introduce you to real food, then.”

“Last time I checked, burgers are not a cognition of the public, but rather an existing type of food. Why should I go out of my way to meet your unnecessary demands?”

“You know I make exceptional curry. And that is not the only dish my talents are limited to.”

Akechi suppresses a snort. “Humble as always.”

“Thank you, you too.”

An annoyed, but somewhat fond sigh escapes him. “Alright, but only if you eat your whole portions. I do know how much we both hate to throw food away, no matter how little it is.”

Akira looks hesitant about relinquishing another, small point of control Akechi lets him have, but the aspect of cooking with fresh ingredients most likely won whatever arguments clashes inside his head when Akechi offers his hand.

He can’t help but feel smug when Akira accepts after pondering for a few more seconds, and Akechi squeezes once for good measures.

“Then it’s a deal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _regarding the context: I never actually never really understood Akechi's position. At one point it's mentioned he's Sae's assistant, but is it an actual position, or is he actually employed as a detective and just helping her? Or is it more like a work experience thing where he gets money, not fully employed, but good enough to work on his own cases, but main role still being Sae's assistant? I don't know what I picked for this story but he gets his own office anyway._
> 
> _Shido knows calls and texts aren't received in the Metaverse, but he also expects Akechi to regularly go outside of it as well, something Akechi NOW wants to avoid as much as possible cauz precious time with Akira :)_
> 
> _The Phantom Thieves have not told Sojiro about what exactly happened within Akechi's palace, only that he's being kept there. It's the reason why Sojiro isn't exactly relaxed about this entire thing, but his guardian instincts would go completely nuts if they were to mention how Akechi... manhandled him._
> 
> _In case you've also been wondering about Akechi's Shadow: I have not forgotten him! Do not worry XD_
> 
> I know there’s a fanfic out there where Akechi keeps Akira in a zoo. I’ve read some chapters of it, but when the angst hit I couldn't bring myself to continue... I should really pick it up again since I don't remember the plot line except for the cooking and the zoo.
> 
> Anyway, I know Akira in that fic tried cooking as well, and me implanting the same thing is by no means a try to rip off another person’s idea. I find it quite logical that Akira, being the awesome curry cook he is, would get kinda sick of Akechi’s idea of food lol and since our pancake boy is so lenient, why not try to ask?
> 
> Poor boy, can excel at most things but not at cooking ;(
> 
> Please look forward to the next chapter where we get a bit of action!


	4. what i can't surrender

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the lovely comments I received! Each mean a lot to me, no matter how small or how long. They're the motivation to polish what I've already written and adjust what still seems a bit odd to me.
> 
> **November 28th contains moderate violence, but no detailed wound description.**
> 
> It's the promised fighting scene, and while it's not the first I've written, it's the first that I'll publish. There's some more action to come in the future as well, that's why your feedback regarding it would be lovely!
> 
> As a thanks for your support, please enjoy this lengthy chapter (as big as the previous 3 combined) even though I'm still unsatisfied with! Beta-read by myself as always.
> 
> …
> 
> How do you feel about an AU where Akira met Goro first instead of Ryuji and Ann? o////o

###  November 24th, Thursday

Akira has three, very big problems.

Probably a lot more, but he can only deal with so much at once, and three is a reasonable number that gives him the illusion that everything might not be as bad as it seems.

1) The most obvious one: Akechi keeps him trapped inside his palace. Akira can’t get out aside from the few paths he’s allowed to take through the theater, or when Akechi takes him to the various entertainment rooms to play things such as darts or billiards (something he always tries to refuse, yet still ends up playing anyway because Akira can only work out, read, and try to make sense out of the walking bundle of contradiction that is Akechi so much).

2) Akechi has made it quite clear that he wants Akira to only acknowledge _him_ , and... basically forget the rest of his life. Which, in all honesty, might not even be too hard with how fast the past months whirled past him, his worn diary the only place where he can remind himself that Arsene and palaces and flashy powers actually happened. 

3) Akechi clearly seems to be infatuated with him on some level. On some _big_ level which Akira still has trouble properly grasping the lengths of.

All the points come in no particular order, one neither above or below the other in the chaos that is his state of mind, but the focus lies on the fact that Akira has big problems _within_ these problems.

Regarding the first one: Akira doesn’t feel like an actual prisoner, so to speak. Heck, Akechi doesn’t give him many reasons to.

Sure, there are obvious limitations as to not leaving the Metaverse and not sticking his nose into things Akechi does not want him to look at, but Akira has seen countless of movies, documentaries and even horror stories revolving around prisoners to know that in comparison, Akira might as well be in heaven.

Ok, maybe too much of an exaggeration - a very restricted vacation.

Not a term Akira would normally use to describe his current situation, but his schedule is usually stuffed to the brim, and by the time it's evening, Akira hits the bed like a dead sack of potatoes, slipping almost immediately into much needed sleep that is only occasionally interrupted by a man with a questionably long nose.

Here Akira is able to sleep on a stupidly soft bed that is nothing compared to the hard, uncomfortable mattress in his attic propped on _beverage crates,_ and for a much longer amount of time than he is used to as well.

The cramped toilet he has to share with each and every guest of LeBlanc is unable to compete against the whole bathroom Akira now has to himself, and god bless Akechi's cognition because it contains a _shower_ as well.

Usually Akira has to venture outside and pay for one in the public bathhouse.

Akechi even brings him food like it's some kind of service (then again, he kinda has to if he doesn't want Akira to starve), although here Akira has to deduct some points because the detective does not share the general conception of food with the amount of fast-food and instant stuff he buys. Hopefully that will turn into a better direction after the deal they made.

Akira also possesses an adequate amount of freedom outside of obvious boundaries, _and_ a surprising amount of privacy because contrary to what Akira initially feared, Akechi keeps his hands very much to himself aside from a few, casual touches that could have been unintentional if not for the knowing, satisfied look in red-brown eyes each time fingers linger just a heartbeat too long.

It definitely doesn’t help erasing the memory of heat and pleasure mixing with pain ghosting through his system, and how willingly Akira had subjected himself to the whims of the new torrent of emotions at some concerningly early point.

That doesn’t mean the detective can’t _look,_ and it serves to make Akira uncomfortable as much as it bothers him in an entirely different way which he always, very carefully shoves back into the depths of his mind. 

Akira knows he gets more flustered about it than he’d like, but it has less to do with the actual action (Akira has grown used to all kinds of stares over time), and more with how _natural_ _ly_ Akechi does it.

Akira can’t call him out for it, because asking him why he’s starring at Akira like he's his greatest possession (which is an absurd thought, but doesn't feel like it's far from the truth anyway) would equal to questioning why Akechi needs air to breathe. 

And since the effect is so one-sided and he doesn’t want to embarrass himself more than he already does, Akira deals with the aftermath himself.

Damn his traitorous cheeks. 

Akira doesn’t want to admit it, but even the conversations with Akechi feel relatively normal – there’s still the big elephant in the room Akira is unable to address (which doesn’t exist for Akechi in the first place because _Akechi acts like this entire thing here is normal),_ but Akira tries keeping them short anyway, sometimes resorting to silence which Akechi always takes with a disapproving furrow of his eyebrows (meaning they move the entirety of a half centimeter towards each-other), but never directly comments on as long as he doesn’t do it too frequently.

Akira is pretty sure Akechi is storing the undeniable feeling of mild rejection to unleash one hell of a storm on Akira each time he is given a partial, silent treatment, but since it’s not a current, immediate threat, Akira decides he’ll cross that bridge when it comes.

Basically, Akira has a lot of free time, doesn't know what to do with it, and Akechi doesn't make it better by being the most important source of entertainment he has.

The second problem within the second problem is that whenever Akechi talks ill about the Phantom Thieves, there’s the smallest sparkle of agreement trying its best to stand against the raging train of outrage.

They haven’t breached more serious topics (still avoiding the one-sided elephant in the room), but Akechi is passive-aggressiveness personified, slipping telling, underhanded comments about each of his major confidants every now and then in the most mundane situations.

Neither of them are dumb, and both know that they get under Akira’s skin way too much for his liking.

Akechi’s prevailing persistence about how the Phantom Thieves are a bad influence infuriates Akira, but also how some of the words resonate within him, the smallest of ripples on what Akira likes to think of as an otherwise calm, collected surface.

They should _not_ resonate within him in the slightest.

Akira has spent half a year surrounded by wonderful people, each having overcome personal demons within themselves to awaken a vigorous persona that could have not been more beautiful if they wished.

There are still doubts and self-conscious thoughts lingering which Akira has to chase away, and some of them return with a frequency he can’t really appreciate with how packed his schedule most of the time is.

He does a _ton_ for his friends, even Akira is aware of that, but he doesn’t think of it as a burden like Akechi claims it to be.

Sure, he has about as much sleep under his belt as the average university student does (a few hours at best), and it feels like not even the most thorough massage could relieve him of the continuous muscle strain that found a new habitat in his shoulders, but like this current situation shows - he doesn't know how to spent the time by himself (when Akechi doesn't make the both of them to do something) when all he's ever done is spending it for the sake of others.

When Akira treats himself to burgers, it's always with Iwai's shop in mind to build just a little more guts to ask for better and more equipment.

Even when his friends think that he's having some fun time in the batting cages, it's mostly just because Akira wants to get a better grip at techniques and detailed hand movements to aid him where proficiency comes in handy.

Akira is also constantly broke because yes, he gets to sell all the gold and treasures they stumble upon, but medicine, food, weapons, armor and model guns are fucking _expensive,_ going well into the six-digit range sometimes now.

Sure, he could ask some individuals to maybe help with the financial situation when it gets particularly tight.

If he'd ask, Haru would most certainly deposit a hefty sum into his bank account for the sake of the Phantom Thieves because it'd be mere pocket change for her, but Akira knows very well how other people in his group would react if they ever got wind of that.

Makoto, for example, who doesn’t like to be patronized, or Yusuke, who will fall to his knees to thank you for a free meal, but would pull a rather unattractive face so unlike him if they were to spent money on him in any other way than food (and maybe art), even if it’s for the common good of the Phantom Thieves. 

The only thing that makes Yusuke accept the equipment Akira has to shove into his arms each time is because it's the profit from their raids ~~and his work.~~

Yusuke would probably sooner run around naked in the Metaverse than accept a sponsoring of Haru where Yusuke didn't have a chance to contribute at least a bit.

So Akira chose the path that had always prevailed above any other: solve the problem himself by taking several part time jobs to cover additional costs on his own, inside and outside of their Phantom Thieves Agenda, and make them think he's saving up money for university.

(Hopefully he'll get to keep his jobs once he's back.)

There’s never much money left for him since it gets invested into Phantom Thief stuff almost immediately, but it’s always enough for two to three, much needed hot baths in the week (he'll miss Akechi's shower), and maybe some cold soda and melon breads since he gets free coffee and free meals from Sojiro if he lingers long enough around LeBlanc to activate the tingling senses of parental instincts that slumber within said man.

They just always need a bit of a while to kick in.

It would certainly be welcomeif the Phantom Thieves would maybe pitch in a few coins out of their own from time to time, but Akira doesn’t want to ask, knows the others have problems of their own and things to do, and the last thing he wants to do is impose.

The phrases _I will pay_ or _I'll do it_ is way easier to say than other alternatives, and will always harvest guaranteed results within his calculations.

Akira wants to help his friends, not burden them with something he could simply work to alleviate himself, even if it puts a taxing strain on his mind and body as well (which they _all_ have. He has no right to complain, does he?). 

It’s better than the option of telling the others of his struggles.

And even worse: the rejection that might follow, the disappointed faces that would tell him _you’re our leader! Is it not enough that we're already working this much to follow your commands? Is it so hard for you to invest some time on your own as well?_ _Take responsibility!_

Granted, these thoughts are entirely illogical because most of the time the Phantom Thieves know a bit more than they let on, and some members like Morgana always look after him even if it’s in the most inconvenient ways, such as by telling him to go to sleep early.

Akira will just blame some of these whimsical, out-of-place scenarios and conjured arguments that happen inside of his head on Akechi because he keeps on meddling with his psych at any given opportunity, unintentional or not.

Akira suddenly has very much time for himself due to being forcefully separated from his responsibility from the real world, and the countless blanks and gaps he now has are forcefully filled and invaded by thoughts and reflections on how this entire predicament came to be in the first place.

Most of the time joined by imaginary, condescending comments in Akechi's voice. 

And the last problem regarding the third reason for his current, could-have-been-better condition...

While Akechi’s interest in Akira had seemed to have taken a rather drastic turn, going from being annoyed-intrigued by the weird, glassed dude to what a lot of people would call uncannily _fascinated_ by now, Akira can’t help the traitorous part of his heart that is _jumping_ , practically lapping up the undivided attention of Akechi like it’s his last meal.

And that gets him to the root of all problems:

**Goro Akechi.**

And it’s so fucking unfair, Akira thinks, because Akechi is his biggest threat and biggest weakness in _one_.

Some god thought it was probably a good idea to make his life not only complicated, but also to derail the entirety of it into a dead-end of tragedy that would make even a certain, white-haired ghoul weep.

One second he’s apprehensive of the detective who’s smile seemed too easy, too practiced to not hide something, and before Akira knew it he started helping more around LeBlanc than previously, always in hopes of getting to see a certain, pretty detective lose his way into their café.

And even when Akechi revealed his true colors, working with them under the pretense of cleansing both of their names just to end Akira’s wonderful life with the trigger of a gun, Akira still couldn’t help but greet him with a small, shy smile every time the practiced tell-tale rhythm of Akechi’s shoes echo in LeBlanc.

The rational part of his brain had hoped that their plan would work out despite all the bumps it showed; getting rid of Akechi by making him believe he won, only to have a comeback bigger than all of their achievements combined.

The more emotional part had hoped that they could have avoid everything _somehow_.

Most importantly the seemingly inevitable scenario where Akechi and Akira get ripped apart; by death, by law, by _everything,_ because no matter how many similarities they share - ultimately they contradict each-other.

After spending a bit of time in his theater, Akira knows the dull pain he saw in Akechi’s eyes in the rarest of times hadn’t been mere figments of his imagination.

Akira had already met a ton of confidants, started helping them to get their life back on track even though his own had long gone off into a random, ever-changing direction, but never had Akira wanted to reach out for a single person so badly, to take away the pain Akechi never really denied having, but always adamantly kept to himself and baring a sickenly sweet smile at anyone who tries meddling with it.

Because Akira's life had never been easy, Akechi has to be the most stubborn, guarded, ~~attractive~~ , paradox person he ever had the pleasure of meeting.

At some point Akira had asked himself if what he was trying was _useless -_ getting the detective to open up with his favorite coffee, coaxing him outside to have fun at the most random locations once they got more familiar with each-other.

But the closer Akira got, the further away he felt from Akechi, and he wondered if their paths really _are_ destined to be walked apart despite all of his efforts.

Akechi is the first person Akira wants to save with a desperation unknown to him, yet Akechi made it so damn difficult, even now.

At his wits and, the theater had been a golden, albeit dangerous opportunity, but Akira was too afraid of the other outcome, of a café without the detective taking his usual seat, a future divided.

It had been a frightening thought, so much that despite his reluctance on meddling with Akechi's heart, Akira mechanically agreed on raiding the very place he now finds himself shackled to by invisible bonds, made not only by one person.

The wretched part of him should be _happy_ that he's finally gotten Akechi's attention and prevented their future from becoming what felt written in the stars.

Akira had always known that the little flirts, no matter how trivial and banal Akechi let them seem at times (their competitive nature like to cause some miscommunication) always contained grains of genuineness, but never in his wildest dreams had Akira thought that Akechi would reciprocate his feelings like _this._

_This_ , sheltered from the outside world, catered to like a luxurious pet - this is not the attention he had hoped to receive from the detective.

What Akechi is doing, taking him away from the real world under the pretense of _cleansing him off the filth_ is not healthy and normal in the slightest.

Akechi might really consider therapy for that.

But Akira considers taking his own advice as well, seeing as despite knowing everything of the above, he’s still here, splayed out on the comfortable bed because it’s most likely still morning, lamenting about every little, theoretical thing about how wrong Akechi and how right Akira is, yet not doing a single, actual thing against it.

The exact same, wretched part of his that shouldn't be happy about this predicament _is_ unmistakably happy at getting the detective all to himself.

But what _can_ Akira do, powerless as he is? 

Arsene or other personas don't answer to his call, and Akechi could easily overwhelm him even if Akira would catch him off-guard. He's pretty certain of that.

Granted, Akira _knows_ that if he were to do something Akechi would displease to greater lengths than the disapproving comments and looks he gets when Akira cuts their conversations short or turns his back to him out of petty (but reasonable) defiance, there’d be _hell_ to come.

Akechi hadn’t told him, but Akira sees it in his eyes, the unyielding dare to push just a little more.

Like Akechi _w_ _ants_ him to walk closer despite the warnings, to pull the dagger Akira always keeps inside of his coat and lash out at him.

He’d miserably fail, of course, having a vast grasp on Akechi’s abilities, but it would give the other an excuse to make use of the silent promises that lies within each of his stares.

Akira doesn’t always see them, but he knows they’re there. And honestly speaking, he doesn’t know whether to be terrified by how Akechi would make use of the opportunity if one were to arise, or by the betrayal of the certain part of his heart that longs for any part of Akechi it can get.

To make it short: Akira has grown to repeatedly resent himself for that side of his, but also knows it's pointless to fight it over an over again, seeing as it blooms with even more tenaciousness afterwards.

For each head Akira severs, two more grow and try to wind around him, and the fire he needs to prevent that lies within the very maw itself.

Akira needs to get deeper.

He could never bring himself to hate Akechi – not even after discovering his plan and the black mask he has yet to show him, and knowing the pain Akechi carries with him like an invisible burden that no one else seems to see, there has to be a deep-rooted reason behind everything.

How Akechi came to be so utterly desperate, clinging himself to what must be the first person to treat him like a normal, human being and not like the falsely prince he parades as, but still trying to do everything by himself.

God, Akira just wants to _help._

But isn't he a step closer to doing that exactly? Gaining unusual recognition from the detective, opening opportunities to get closer and unravel the frozen heart that seemingly bleeds for Akira only? 

He doesn't think he's ever been this close.

Doubt opens for dread to enter. Akira _can’t_ be that special. But he's at least playing a somewhat important role to the mystery that revolves around Akechi.

Maybe Akira is just experiencing a very long and very realistic feeling dream, courtesy of Igor, because not once during Akira’s duration in the theater had he entered or saw the Velvet Room again.

That… does worry him a bit.

Come to think of it, Akira can't recall if the blue door had greeted him as well when they first entered his palace.

Maybe it’s a punishment for how lax he had gotten with the Phantom Thieves and his rehabilitation.

Maybe Akira should have tried harder, worked just a littler longer, reached out for Akechi just a bit more, and Igor is showing him the route of consequences for his indolent actions.

Akira feels the subtle change of air in the palace, indicating that Akechi has come back from the reality Akira misses.

The first time he experienced it was during the Phantom Thieves’ raid on Akechi’s theater, the impact of Akechi entering his own palace so strong that his instincts toppled over each-other, telling him to _run and get out if you value even a bit of your life._

After one... two weeks? He had gotten used to it to the point where it feels like a subtle change in the stream of air, accompanied by the sense of something _heavier,_ foreboding if Akira were to try and taste it.

_Ah_ , Akira remembers. _That’s right. He wanted to get the groceries we spoke about_.

The sun had barely risen (at least Akira likes to imagine it did – the downside to his room is that it contains no window and no clock, so for the current time and date he has to rely on Akechi, something the smug bastard _knows_ ) when the knocking on his door stirred him out of dreamland, Akechi informing a half-conscious Akira that he’d make a quick trip to the supermarket to start the bargain they stroke. 

Akira groans into empty air when he feels his hand tingling with excitement at the aspect of getting to cook for the both of them.

He asked for this, didn't he? What Akechi is doing is perfectly normal, and yet that exact _normal_ is what annoys Akira the most.

Just the mere thought of the detective going _grocery shopping_ for them is unbearably domestic.

_Feels like you two live together,_ his mind unhelpfully supplies when Akira thinks about how regularly he actually already cooks for the detective, even if it's just curry.

But he brought this upon himself, somewhat aware of the consequences to see something other than cup noodles and burgers.

Akira can’t continue playing along with whatever this is, but he’s too afraid, too aware of what Akechi would do if he were to try something as stupid as running.

He has quite a bit of self preservation, unlike some other protagonists of animes and books and videogames.

Not that he’d get really far with Shadow Akechi’s personas lingering outside, blending within the darker areas, or the monster patrolling the halls, all created specifically to oppose him.

And the ruler himself, of course, but Akira has still yet to catch more than a glimpse of him.

Maybe he just should cease talking completely.

Akira is usually a man of few words. Morgana is probably the only person (cat?) that hears him talking more than a few sentences each day, but it seems like the entirety of his word count go into conversations with Akechi instead. 

Well, Akira still doesn’t talk _that_ much, letting the detective lead most out of their conversation like usual, but it’s still a considerable difference; his full-fledged, continuous sentences in comparison to the three-word-answers he usually gives.

Which had always been enough for his friends, but never for Akechi.

Shaking his head, Akira ponders for a few more moments.

The longer he stays here, the more he is forced to play along will most likely lead for the weak spot in his heart to grow and give into the signs of Stockholm syndrome that Akira fucking knows he’s been experiencing against all the rational thoughts his mind desperately tries to shove into his face as a countermeasure. 

If he can’t run or fight, he just… might as well try to ignore Akechi, right?

_A bad idea_ , his brain tells him, but it also says _a better option than the others_.

Maybe he should start slowly. Gradually responding and talking less and less than he already does, and _maybe_ Akechi would be too busy after his vacation ends to properly notice it.

Akira knows it’s a foolish, hopeful thought and Akechi will without a doubt notice at some point, but he needs to cling to something in order to not loose his mind and weak heart in the duration of his stay here until the Phantom Thieves get him out.

Akira can manage for one or two more weeks, but if he has to stay more than a month here-

He thinks of the stubborn warmth trying to break through ice whenever Akechi is in his vicinity, and doesn’t know whether his heart and mind will still beat for the Phantom Thieves as vigorously as it does now when enough time passes.

###  November 25th, Friday

Akira cooks for them now.

And it’s… a rather pleasant experience.

Akechi is still unsure if it’s the process itself, or the unexpectedly pleasant results that come out of it because much to his dismay - Akira hasn't lied, and turned out to be a rather formidable cook.

Well, Akechi kind of already knows that due to his time in LeBlanc, but it never really managed to properly connect with that particular fact, probably because Akira had only made only ever made one dish.

Why there is a kitchen in his theater is questionable anyway – then again, he does have a restaurant on the second level with a corresponding, large place to stir up appropriate food to serve, but Akechi hadn’t taken Akira there yet and he doesn’t intend to, seeing as this much smaller, almost cramped employee kitchen works just fine.

It’s really just an opportunity to overcome the distance that usually reigns between them without Akira being able to do anything against it.

It's a Testament of Akechi's dedication (and patience) that he's been respecting Akira's space for so long, but it's about time that he should get used to a little bit of... less distance.

But the positive effects from this deal come with a lot of negative aspects as well, something Akechi had already dreaded and regretted the moment he offered Akira his hand to seal their words.

The most apparent hole in this entire arrangement is Akechi’s cooking skills.

Or rather, lack of.

Akechi remembers the poor fish filet he once tried making in cooking class and tells himself that it is perfectly fine to _not_ excel at something for once.

It should _aid_ the image he’s trying to project because making mistakes is human, and being human makes him even more approachable.

Akira is good at cooking.

Akechi isn't.

The realization makes him want to reshape entire Mementos in a fit of rage and slaughter.

The fact that Akira is being painstakingly, _obviously_ better at something for once with absolute no way for Akechi to work around it makes it about five time worse than it already is.

No matter how much he tried to improve his cooking skills since the first disaster of a fish, they stayed adamantly low, as if some otherworldly force prevents this simple, irritatingly mundane ability from rising beyond being able to heat up water and put food into the microwave and oven and let the wonders of technique do their magic.

Even his _cutting skills_ appear to be questionable, judging by how Akira breaks the silence first.

"Akechi."

"Hm?"

"...are you seriously charging Vorpal Blade with a kitchen knife right now?"

He gives the thief a charming smile, knife in hand already glowing. "It's a rather efficient method, don't you think?"

The idea of completely decimating the meat into barely existent pieces for the stew they’re making seems good enough to him, but apparently Akira doesn’t share his sentiment, sighing exasperatedly at him as he nudges Akechi over, effectively disrupting the skill charge.

The only thing that keeps Akechi from using Vorpal Blade on _Akira_ instead is the thought that he might very well take out the entire kitchen with it in in the progress, and how his body freezes the instant Akira’s hips bump against his to make Akechi scoot over.

Akira tries guiding Akechi through the process of properly slicing meat and not hacking it into microscopical pieces, but Akechi’s fingers are numb and frozen, greedy for the warmth Akira emits next to him that his limbs barely nudge at all.

“You’re hopeless,” Akira huffs, and Akechi remembers himself, scoffs as he hands Akira the knife.

The rest of his temporary stupor quickly vanishes when he sees Akira what must be _expertly_ wielding the utensil as effortlessly as the chefs in TV shows like to do.

Akira shamelessly uses the exposure of one of the few, but fatal weaknesses Akechi has to continue to tease said man with subtle, but obvious gestures, sometimes throwing a handful of comments in as well just to be sure.

Eventually Akechi just leans back, tries not to focus on how much irritatingly _superior_ and _knowledgeable_ Akira is in this field during the rest of the duration, but rather concentrates on how aesthetically pleasing Akira looks in this particular setting, completely in a familiar element, darting around the limited space like a pretty, little housewife.

Just with a black trenchoat instead of an apron.

The sight is ridicioulus, and Akechi hopes to fix it in the near future.

The result turns out to be better than Akechi expected once he got over the rest of his already trampled pride, finally taking a bite from the steaming, hot food right under his nose once it's done.

“You need to consciously taste it,” Akira says, waving a spoon around like one would lecture a small child. His knuckles are white. “It does you no good to just gobble your food down.”

“I’m not _gobbling_ my food down,” Akechi hisses, but tries to concentrate on the sticky substance in his mouth regardless, spending a lot more time chewing than usually.

It doesn’t make his taste buds explode, but the stew settles with a heavy, content feeling in his stomach, in a similar manner as to LeBlanc's curry.

It’s a lot more than Akechi usually feels when eating, so he decides that a short trip each morning to the grocery store for fresh ingredients wouldn’t hurt, especially since Akira holds his part of the deal up as well, going so far as even licking the bowl clean which earns a disgusted scowl from Akechi.

The odd reticence Akira possessed seemed to have loosened over the course of him being submerged in a familiar activity.

Akira’s eyes dance as he continues to rile Akechi up with a deliberate lack of table manners - but Akechi might have spoken too soon.

The brightness vanishes as fast as it came, the hand trying to stab Akechi’s eyes in clumsy and half-hearted attempts stilling before slowly retracting to hover lifelessly over the table.

Akechi puts his chin between his fingers, leaning back to further scrutinize the oddly guarded posture of Akira.

Akira is never completely _relaxed_ , but he’s never been this tense either, as if Akechi is doing something that makes him particularly antsy.

And Akechi isn’t doing anything different than normal, this being only the second day where they prepared their evening meal together, and Akira hadn't acted much differently yesterday.

When they bring the dishes to the kitchen, Akira is rather lax again, going so far as sending Akechi a half-hearted, small smile over his shoulder when he acknowledges Akechi's unrelenting stare.

Well, he has an inkling suspicion now.

###  November 26th, Saturday

Currently they’re making a simple omelet, one of the few meals Akechi can actively assist with now that he's learned to not charge Vorpal Blade each time he sees a cut-worthy ingredient.

They both have their backs to each-other, working diligently on their respective tasks to fill hungry stomachs.

Akechi cuts directly to the chase, casually flicking away a stubborn piece of leek clinging to one of his fingers. “You’re not exactly subtle.”

He hears Akira sharply inhale, and the stirring of eggs falters for a moment before it picks up again, slower than before.

Ah, bullseye. 

The previous weirdly domestic atmosphere around them twists into brittle stagnancy.

“Ignoring me is a fruitless demeanor,” Akechi continues in a warm tone, eye twitching when he fails to evenly cut a piece of green into two.

“I don't know what you’re talking about.”

Akechi laughs humorlessly. “You do. I know your thoughts drift to what I’ve said more often than not. Denying it is just prolonging the inevitable.”

“Now _you_ don’t know what you’re talking about," Akira dryly remarks.

“Oh, I don’t?”

Akira stays silent.

Akechi won’t lie – he is starting to grow a bit irritated at the stubbornness of the other, but not enough to let it influence his current task.

A cut would heal easily enough with the mere murmur of a spell, but Akechi’s pride is wounded enough when it comes to cooking with Akira already.

It doesn’t help that the leek is splayed so pathetically across the wooden board, looking like it would rather be anywhere else than here.

In another time, Akechi is sure he could have related, but now he's a man with a _mission._

“You have had no qualms in putting yourself in my shoes to understand my opposite opinion before. I’m unable to see the issue here,” Akechi says, a coyly lilt to his tone.

For someone so perceptive and objective when needed to be, Akira sure is dense sometimes.

“Books and TV shows are different, Akechi. This...” Akira makes some vague gestures with a whisk in his hand, nearly getting some excess omelet on Akechi’s clothes, “is hardly comparable.”

The detectives pushes the slices of leek over to Akira who wordlessly accepts it, not commenting on the comically uneven sizes for once.

Despite the seriousness of their talk, there is little physical discomfort in the black haired male’s posture, only a tension in his shoulder that had never been gone in the first place.

As if only speaking about a topic that makes him uncomfortable, but not nearly enough to lash out like a cornered animal.

It's a desperate attempt of Akira, one that almost makes Akechi pity him.

“There’s no rule that says I can’t,” Akechi reminds him. “Both are subjects we have opinions on that clash. It’s nothing we’re not used to. It’s just a different context. _Again_ , like always.”

“But the circumstances are different! It’s easy to talk about books or shows because they're usually just personal preference and nothing too important. Right now, we’re talking about a lot more personal issue. My _friends._ The apparent bane of your existence.”

Oh, damn right they are.

Akira continues, audibly agitated with how he forces some of the words out, yet still relatively calm. “I’m really failing to understand how desperate you must be to look between the lines so hard to conclude the things you say. We protect each-other in battle, go out together. Have fun _together_. I don’t know where you’re coming from.”

“Please,” Akechi scoffs, turning around from his end of the kitchen isle to properly face Akira’s back. “There is no interpretation without evidence. You should know the best that my conclusions are precise and accurate to the core, perhaps only varying in detail. You’re just afraid that I’m _right_ , aren’t you? Deep down, you already know it. Acknowledging it, however, is an entirely different thing.”

Akira doesn’t respond, but puts the leeks and the few pieces of paprika, garlic and other herbs into the mixed eggs to turn around, mirroring Akechi’s position.

“What is there to understand? You view my friends as foul people who only use me without ever giving something in return, which they _do_.”

Ah, witty Akira is slowly coming back to the surface. Seems like he really does need a bit of direct, personal probing from Akechi to address what he’s been trying to run away from.

Well, he’ll scratch the itch Akira doesn’t want to scratch himself.

Akechi suppresses the smirk threatening to work its way on his face, already working out the path of victory for the first, important argument they're having.

“Oh, and what is it that they give? A small, dispensable gift they spontaneously buy because they happened to have some left-over coin? A _thank you_ that is forgotten within the next second after it's been said?”

“Isn’t it like that with all _thank your_ s?", Akira counters.

Akechi pushes some bangs out of his eyes. “Even when your comrades healed me, even when somebody took the shadow down I had been, ah, _struggling_ with - I've never been completely genuine with it. Oh, you'd _know_ when I am.”

Muttering a pleasant, polite _thanks_ has become a habit to him as much as the smile that easily falls onto his face when he means it the least.

Akira seemingly forgot that with all of his friends.

Nothing flatters across metal eyes, and Akechi feels small triumph settling inside of him.

“Words are _power_. You seek worth in what isn't." Brown-red narrows.

"I know what you do. _They_ know what you do on a daily basis, yet they act like it's a normal thing for someone your age, having so many part time jobs and sacrificing so much time you should use to enjoy yourself for once. You deny my interpretation, yet refuse to even take a look at it. An interpretation is only viable when other people can follow through your arguments and references - which it very much is, as you'd perhaps know if you'd cease to be so needlessly stubborn.”

That seems to settle heavier into Akira than his other comments, and contentment surges through Akechi when he sees Akira begin to falter, uncertainty flickering across his face for the first time.

Akechi uses the moment to disregard the knife in his hand completely, taking one, two steps into Akira’s direction, and promptly cages the smaller between himself and the kitchen isle. Akechi looms over him with the height advantage he has, searching Akira's face for more weak points to exploit.

Akira shrinks under his gaze, ducking his head and averting his eyes. His thief mask is still missing, and Akechi really, really likes it when there’s nothing to obscure what Akira is thinking.

What Akira says rarely reflects on his face, but emotions have always clashed beautifully in his eyes, giving away what his lack of expression can’t.

Like this, Akechi has a front row seat to the spectacle in said gray orbs; no curtain to shield their vulnerability.

Akechi’s voice pulls Akira’s gaze back to him, and he revels in the spark of defiance that trembles in the presence of preeminence. 

“You should know that I never draw invalid or unconsolidated conclusions," Akechi mumbles. Akira can't seem to focus on only one point of his face, indecesive as to where it would be the least dangerous to settle their gaze on.

"This time my personal bias might play a bigger role than usual in my observations, but there’s still a shockingly long list of things I can tell you from the top of my head that lead me to believe they’re anything but good for you. _Including_ _evidence,_ of course.”

“They're not good for me, but _you_ are?” Steel eyes twitch as Akechi moves his head a bit closer, but not yet turning away.

“More than you think” Akechi breathes, not bothering to hide the increasing roughness of his voice.

Confused anger settles into Akira’s eyes, but some of that fire crumbles when he abruptly notices the lack of distance between them, almost nose to nose.

Akechi huffs - Akira is so unnecessarily complicated at times, and he backtracks a bit.

“All they’ve been doing is sit back and let you do all the work,” Akechi speaks, in a way he knows has interviewers and audience sub-consciously lean forward to catch every word uttered. “Using you for their own benefit. I don’t need to be there from the beginning to know that it’s always been like that.”

“You keep repeating yourself," Akira laments in a bored tone, only a faint tremor towards a syllable's end indicating that he's anything but unaffected. "Besides, I’m their leader. It's in my responsibility to care for them.”

Akira is unable to suppress a small whimper when Akechi settles a hand on his cheek, unusually tentative. He has no gloves on this time, having put them aside for the kitchen.

Akira’s skin is temptation, lulling him to pet and trace as much as it calls out for him to mark and bite and just dig in.

“They rely on me," Akira tries once more, traces of faint determination settling back into his eyes.

Akechi tilts his head mockingly, doesn’t try to stop the iciness coating his words, a sharp contrast to the earlier warmth. “A responsibility they most definitely forced onto you. And responsibility does _not_ consist of driving yourself to ruin for them. I'm not fucking _dumb._ ”

He hisses the last words, the familiarity of an emerging Loki making his fingers press more into pale skin that had begun to tremble slightly at some point.

Narrowing his eyes in a mixture of arousal and hot anger, Akechi watches Akira’s tongue darts out to wet dry, pink lips.

Akechi’s fingers on the counter are digging uncomfortably hard into the solid surface in an attempt to ground himself and _not_ get distracted.

“They do nothing unless you tell them to do it. They dump an exaggerating amount of their own, emotional crap onto you, and after you’ve given them your wise words that hold their own guilt in check until the next time they’re reminded of their miserable existence and seek validation in you, they drop you like a used toy and don’t pick you up unless they want to remember. Again and again and _again._ Isn’t that so?”

Akechi knows Akira can’t answer with the way he now presses himself against the other’s body, relishing how Akira tries his best not to appear too affected with the way they mold so perfectly together.

Akira needs to listen – it’s a bit counter-productive for Akechi to say that after accusing the Phantom Thieves of using their leader for just that purpose, but it’s different because he talks to Akira about Akira _himself_.

Poor thief tries his hardest to fit in, to have a place where somebody would finally accept him, but his friends shamelessly exploited that, seeing the pliant obedience to please underneath.

Akira lives in temporary and fleeting remarks, steadying himself on a loose boat of words and gestures holding meaning for only a second or two.

Akechi can see that because he himself had been like this, once. Eager for praise and acknowledgment, doing everything he can to get even a faint shimmer of recognition and pride showing in his father's eyes.

Living for everyone’s sake, but not for his own because there had never been an alternative.

Oh, for how long Akechi had struggled and failed to see the truth, picking up the crumbs people left for him and wondering why his stomach still feels like it’s eating itself after devouring thousands of them.

But at some point he realized that no one, especially not Shido would ever give him the sort of attention and love he craves once he finally got close enough to said man.

_Deserves._

Even while growing up, Akechi quickly noticed that his peers were far to incompetent for such a feat as well, intellect barely enough to keep up with the whims of society.

Akechi had, at some point, resigned himself to a fate where he'd be content to take away the happiness from the very man who denied it for him in the first place, the ultimate goal of his pitiful life.

Until Akira came along, and something akin to _hope_ had dared to infest the deepest parts of his unyielding convictions, throwing around possibilities and alterations to a plan Akechi spent a lot of time manifesting and preparing for.

And when he really _saw_ Akira for the first time after a few months, right when he was about to pull the trigger on a seemingly _innocent_ shadow's head, Akechi recognized the perspective his friends trample on, a personality, a _potential_ destined for so much greater.

He realized that he could not only watch Shido, but so, so many more atone for the countless sins they've committed with _someone else by his side._

“Relinquishing control is a tempting feeling and can be a fatal weapon when correctly used. However, it has become a habit for them, not a privilege. They’re _glad_ they don’t need to have something as scary and big as responsibility because you willingly put the weight of their's on your shoulders.”

Akechi lets his other hand trail across the fading bruises on Akira’s throat, fascinated with the blending of colors and their origin.

Even after two Metaverse weeks they’re _still_ there, tenaciously clinging to the skin that bears them even though they should have faded long ago.

Akechi wonders if Akira presses into them when he isn’t present, slowing the progress of recovery.

Whether he does it deliberately, or without realizing it.

“In the real world it’s Akira Kurusu, shoulder to cry on, excellent catalyst to feel good about themselves." Akechi continues, unyielding. "In the Metaverse it’s Joker, proud leader, carrying them through everything so they don’t have to lift more than a finger.”

“I don't mind either roles,” Akira airily presses out, hot breath fanning over Akechi’s lips.

Akechi parts them to taste the air, satisfied when he catches hints of the herbs Akira had been nibbling on while stirring the eggs.

"Oh, you do."

Akechi is tempted to slip his tongue into Akira’s mouth to get a proper taste, but concentrates on the seeding hatred for the Phantom Thieves upon hearing Akira’s unwillingness to see the true nature of his friends.

How deep they've sunken their filthy claws into him already for Akira to be in so much denial.

"I didn't protest when they elected me as their leader," Akira meekly tries again, but it doesn't sound nearly half as confident as his first, proud statements.

How wonderful it is to see the stoic façade slowly cracking under the pressure Akechi asserts.

“Exactly. You didn’t _protest,"_ he purrs. "Because you openly display what you want, Akira, and they saw a person desperate for somewhere to belong to since they never had one in the first place."

The worlds fall easy from his lips.

“Those fleeting moments of importance and acceptance were hardly enough, but they were _something_ , weren’t they? So you forgot to say no, hoped to please them by exerting yourself. It became a routine for you, sacrificing every inch of your time and body until you fall dead onto your bed each night. Day in, day out. Rinse and repeat, hoping to fill a bottomless void that grows larger the more of yourself you pour into it.”

Akechi nuzzles into the unoccupied cheek, arousal making his words heavy as he softly blows into an ear, smirking when a row of shudders go through Akira.

“You keep giving, giving and giving,” Akechi sighs against sensitive skin. “You don’t remember how it is to take and indulge, especially when it concerns yourself.”

Akechi's nails lightly scratch over Akira’s throat, up and down. There are tremors beneath his fingertips, and the hacked, barely caught moan that hangs on Akira’s lips sounds like a sin Akechi wants to consume.

“Forgive me," Akechi chuckles. "You've never _learned_ how to.”

He trails a fingertip over inviting, pink lips, slightly presses into them as he tilts his head down to whisper directly into his ear. “No one has ever truly given you something, did they? I could give you so, so much if you’d only _ask_ for it.”

There it is, the hitch in Akira’s throat he'd been waiting for.

For a second, it feels like some of Akechi’s words finally got through him.

Akira’s eyes go wide, so damn open that Akechi can see what could be entire galaxies residing within a restricted space, but then the gate closes, and Akechi looks at a monochrome reflection of himself.

“...You speak from experience.”

The skin beings to burn under Akechi's fingertips, so much that the sensation topple over each other, blending into a flash of coldness that makes Akechi retract his hand as if bitten.

Akira is fucking tempting, flushed against the kitchen counter and grabbing onto it like his life depends on it, but Akechi feels other emotions wrestling his arousal down.

_He_ is supposed to get into Akira’s head and make the moron realize that he’s the one _bleeding dry._

And yet Akira still tries to focus on Akechi, to make sense out of _his_ actions, connecting the dots Akechi doesn't want him to connect for _now._

It infuriates him to no end, that even with the shorter straw the thief _still_ manages to find some sort of leverage over Akechi in a situation that is supposed to be under _his_ control, but it wouldn't be Akira if he would not keep surprising him.

Even if it's in increasingly irritating ways.

It’s _his_ palace, but its purpose of hated decisiveness started changing the moment Akechi let Akira catch him off-guard the first time over one of many cups of coffee, both of their eyes carrying more stories than they should.

Those thoughts clash wildly with entirely different ones when Akechi lays sight on a heaving chest and slightly hazed eyes, almost prompting him to go back on the idea of simply bending Akira over the counter.

But the bowl with their uncooked omelet has been pathetically sitting in Akechi’s peripheral view long enough to remind him of their original task, and there is still a tint of concern preventing gray from completely turning into a molten state.

“Come,” Akechi says with a flat voice. “I believe an omelet is waiting for us.”

###  November 28th, Monday

“I don’t remember these halls,” Akira comments when Akechi tugs him along.

He doesn’t need the physical guidance, but it’s one of the few touches that Akira allows without much protest.

“We’re going to the dance rooms.”

Cognitive Robin Hood’s presence is lighter than Loki’s dark one, but it’s still prominent from the short distance it's trailing after them.

“To fight?”

Only Akira could get the idea of fighting in a dance room, Akechi thinks, bemused.

He’s still right in a way.

“No,” Akechi answers, and he can practically hear the question marks forming above Akira's head.

Akira is still more reluctant than Akechi would like, but he’s at least been willing to respond more now that Akechi made it clear that ignoring him was not the wisest idea.

Nothing that would have a very noticeable impact immediately, but would make path forging and getting under Akira's skin a bit easier in the future.

Aside from that, Akechi is now about to take it upon himself to physically dissolve the remaining resistance and more.

When they arrive, Akechi pushes the glass doors aside, giving way to a spacious room.

One side is plastered with ceiling-high mirrors and plenty of space before them, the other side is stocked with stands and shelves inhabiting everything from weapons to rather questionable looking items.

Akira crosses his arms, turning into various directions as if searching for something. “This isn't an ordinary dance room.”

“Congratulations on pointing the obvious out,” Akechi dryly responds. “It’s not all about acting or dancing to be successful on stage, as you might already know.”

He gestures Akira to stand in the middle. The black haired male seems a bit nervous in the new environment, eyes flicking between the weapons and Akechi who merely offers him a cold smile.

The room puts him into a worse mood than the others, implications rather obvious.

Possibly the reason why he can’t stand being into them for too long. Akira’s presence makes it more bearable though, and his limbs already tingle with anticipation on what is to come.

It’s about time Akechi introduces Akira to the first of many more lessons.

The real, _actual_ art of war where you fight for true survival, not the reckless battles the Phantom Thief group does.

It's easy to loose a grasp of what matters when you're in an alternative reality, surrounded by flying monsters and flashy skills with healing and items to back you up.

Akira’s mask flickers back into life the moment Akechi rips his off, summoning the actual Robin Hood.

Akechi doesn't need to look into the mirror to see that he changed outfits as well.

It’s unusual for him to parade around his own palace in white instead of black, but that’s a side he’ll show Akira some other time. Robin Hood would be enough for now.

"I thought we wouldn't be fighting," Akira calls, a bit bewildered.

“We're aren't," Akechi responds, drawing his weapon. "We're going to try and _kill_ each-other.”

To his satisfaction, Akira doesn’t seem surprised by his morbid statement, merely regarding Akechi with slightly narrowed eyes as he takes a cautious stance.

Akechi would, of course, not actually go all out on him - but if Akira doesn't manage to keep up at least a little bit, he has no qualms about casting Samarecarm. 

Arsene manifests in a torrent of blue flames when a white and black mask gets ripped off, standing imposingly behind its master with crossed arms.

Akechi flashes him a cruel smile, spreading his arms in a silent invitation. “Now come, Akira. If you defeat me, I might just even consider letting you go.”

He needs Akira to breach his limits and dig deeper to properly unleash the monster Akechi knows slumbers beneath – after all, Akechi needs someone capable by his side when he wants to take Shido down.

And even if by some miracle Akira would manage to beat him -

Akechi could always capture him again afterwards.

* * *

There are many, many thoughts swirling in Akira’s head.

About their conversation in the kitchen, for example.

About the many, many conflicted feelings Akechi continues to evoke within him.

But the instance a white, princely outfit settles over a detective coat, all alarm bells in Akira’s head go off, and any thoughts unable to contribute to ensure his survival within the next minutes is immediately switched off.

The air around him is suddenly _oppressing –_ it does not make Akira shake with fear due to the maliciousness in it like when Loki appeared, but it makes Akira tremble for an entirely different reason.

_Power._

Overwhelming, unrestrained power, transcending the whole atmosphere in the room to something Akira can't hope to wrap his head around.

Akira had barely felt _anyt_ _hing_ whenever Akechi called for Robin Hood during the time they worked together under the pretense of changing Sae’s heart, and _this_ right now proves once again that he could have wiped them out with a flick of his saber if he wished to do so.

Akira wants to laugh at himself, for his stupidity.

If they’d never invaded the fortress that is his palace, foolish with hope to change a heart that doesn't want to be changed – if Akira would have pressed a little more, voiced out his doubts – would it have changed the outcome, if they would have proceeded with their initial plan?

Even through the mask, Akira feels the intensity of Akechi’s eyes on him, and the vulnerability that comes with feeling so open whenever Akechi is watching particularly intense is a familiar sensation spreading to the tips of his fingers, making Akira hyperaware of his surroundings.

No, he truly believes Akechi words, that the detective wouldn’t have killed him like he originally planned to.

But the route Akechi would have probably taken instead sounds much worse - since the detective most likely figured everything out, Akechi would have legally captured the Phantom Thieves member by taking respective countermeasures instead, separating Akira from them with an additional, real-life barrier called law, and Akira would have been completely at his mercy with nothing to hope for because surely Akechi could twist their story into one beneficial to him only.

It’s better this way, Akira tells himself. His friends are not involved, and can safely work outside of Akechi's reach on a plan to get him out.

Still, seeing the invisible waves of power Akechi is radiating, just by standing there - beautiful and demanding authority with his mere presence - he's afraid that Akechi might be able to hurt the Phantom Thieves even outside the Metaverse.

How naïve Akira had been.

Underestimating Akechi before his palace was one thing, but keeping a dagger within his sleeve only because a small, rebellious voice in his head told him that it wouldn’t have hurt trying-

He had seen the promised outcome if he were to do that in mocking eyes already, but Akira had refused to recognize it back then, merely his own pride preventing him from taking the other by something as lofty as a surprise attack.

To think there had been a time Akira thought himself capable to actually take him on.

But he refuses to be more naïve than he already is, determined to put up one hell of a fight before he'd go down.

Akira is a trickster to boot, and what he might lack in skills and experience, he can try making up with desperation and raw instinct.

Akechi spreads his arms. “Now come, Akira. If you defeat me, I might just even consider letting you go.”

Akira charges at him the moment Akechi finishes his sentences, tense muscles immediately forced to perform at their maximum capacity out of despair in front of a true predator.

He can't afford to waste a single breath - Akira needs to go all out from the start if he wants to even have a chance.

Despite what Akechi had said about not wanting to kill him anymore – Akira got the inkling impression that a fate much worse would beckon him if he doesn’t give it his all.

Akira predicted he'd dodge - there is no way in hell Akechi would have let himself get hit by this - but it’s an entirely different thing to actually see Akechi blocking the thrust of a dagger towards his heart with a simple tilt of his light saber, harmlessly directing the otherwise lethal attack to the side.

“Good,” Akechi somehow finds the time to whisper, and Akira feels the grip of a hand on his re-directed arm.

“Never let your opponent talk too much. It would have been even better if you attacked the moment I summoned Robin Hood, but it’s still earlier than what most would have done.”

The fingers around his arm clench, and Akira gets _pulled_ even further towards Akechi in addition to the momentum Akira had already accumulated by charging at him, and his eyes are barely able to see Akechi's free hand winding up an attack.

The upper cut knocks Akira's head upwards, pain exploding in his mouth.

They’re not even three seconds into the fight, but the force of Akechi’s punch sends him flying through the air, and the following landing pushes the pitiful rest of air out of his lungs.

Defending while attacking – a concept that sounds easy, but is incredibly hard to apply.

One needs to know not only his own body, but also his opponent's as well, good enough to see an opening within an attack and act accordingly to it, conquering the instincts that would force a purely defensive reaction otherwise.

He shouldn’t be surprised that Akechi effortlessly wields its efficiency like it’s a blade on its own.

It’s only one hit with his fist, a mere punch, and Akechi didn’t even use his saber even though he had the opportunity to follow with a lethal storm of attacks.

Akira still feels like a truck just ran over him.

Akira spits out blood, pain spreading from his chin throughout his entire body as the effects finally start to sink in.

Should he be grateful or angry that Akechi _spared_ him so benevolently?

The fury starting to boil inside of him is answer enough.

Standing in some distance away from him, Akechi is composed as ever, one hand on his hip, saber drawing little circles into the ground as Akira shakily stands up again.

“Only one punch,” Akechi lazily drawls.

Behind him, Robin Hood is proudly hovering in the air, arms crossed and the picture of calmness, not having moved an inch after being summoned. “Quite disappointing to see you go down like that after such a weak hit. Where is the strong, proud leader we all know?”

Gritting his teeth, Akira makes Arsene send out an Agilao, watching as Akechi swiftly dodges the erruption of flames by sidestepping.

Knowing the detective wouldn't be hit by such a pitiful spell, Akira sends it out again, but inclines for Arsene to flatten it while widening its angle beforehand.

Akechi narrows his eyes at the variation of a spell flying towards him, and cuts through the wave of flames instead of ducking or jumping over it.

“Quite-”

Akechi doesn’t get to finish, Akira having charged immediately after Arsene sent out the second spell, so when Akechi sliced through it, Akira was already swinging his dagger in a high, diagonal arc mere inches away from him.

But Akechi bends backwards like someone just cut all of his strings, more flexible than what Akira thought him to be capable off, and his attack harmlessly flies over Akechi.

Ignoring the pain throbbing in the entirety of his body from the first punch, Akira is relentless, uses the momentum of his spin to immediately bring up his leg far above his own head during the rotation, intend on slamming it down onto the graceful arch that is Akechi's body.

But Akechi doesn’t evade like Akira expects him to.

He catches Akira's ankle with one hand while bent in his position, stopping Akira’s momentum and successfully disrupting his balance.

Akira only has time to feel a pull before a flash of white splits his vision apart, hot, searing pain ripping his chest open.

“Not only relying on his weapon,” Akechi mumbles, smirking darkly as he watches Akira grasp at the diagonal, huge slash across his chest. “Commendable. Which martial art have you learned?”

The pain burns through his system, makes his breath come out in ragged sections. But judging by how _badly_ it hurts, Akira knows it’s large, but mostly superficial, not having cut or singed the nerves underneath the deeper layers of his skin.

The blood loss would become a problem though, and Akira already feels the red substance seep into his clothing, starting to stain the floor in steady drips where it perls off his coat.

Akira wipes some excess blood off his mouth and glares at Akechi. “A bit of Taekwondo when I was little,” Akira admits, voice rough. “But your whole _body_ is a weapon. My kicks and punches won't do anything.”

He gets a knowing, satisfied smirk as an answer, and Akira uses the opportunity to supply his lungs with fresh air.

What Akira once though of an impressive boulder is actually a mountain. He doesn't want to know how taxing it must have been for Akechi to hold back such a large amount of his powers during their Metaverse trips to not make them suspect more than they already did.

Akechi’s laughter following Akira's forced out response is hacked but free, resonating within him in the same way Akira’s heartbeat flutters with pain and adrenaline.

A weird, tingling sense of excitement begins to unfold in his chest.

“Admitting you’re weaker than me so easily, yet still standing to fight ruin… Truly, you’re something else.”

Akechi is hunched over now, clawing at his mask with a feral grin. “That’s it,” he cackles. “Keep surprising me, Akira! Show me more! Show me _more of who you rea **lly are**_!"

Akechi sounds nothing like the person Akira knows, yet at the same time it doesn’t make him falter, edges along the blood pumping through his veins, pouring out of the gash on his chest – this feels _right_ in some perverted, twisted way, seeing blood, _his_ blood on that white suit of his, all while Akechi’s dark eyes dare him to go beyond his limits to land as much as a scratch.

Akira doesn’t know if he’s ever felt so alive.

He’s still on the floor, but is forced to roll over when he hears the siring of a Kougaon forming beneath him.

The massive pillar of light erupting on the spot he had been a heartbeat before still blinds him, and he uses all the strength in his hands and legs to back-flip a good distance before Akechi could use the possibility to abuse his temporarily lack of vision.

Akira’s closed eyes are forced open to comically sizes, and his mouth parts in a muted cry, coughing up a load of blood when he feels Akechi’s sword going through his ribs. Even with his generous calculations, Akechi is still way faster than Akira anticipated.

“You can show off when you’re able to,” Akechi growls, having suppressed some of the ferocity he had been showing earlier.

It’s a precise pierce, avoiding a direct hit with his bones or vital organs.

Akira gets the brief glimpse of a smirk decorating the lower part of Akechi’s face before a punch nearly breaks his neck with the speed his head is forced to the side, and the large bruise immeaditely blooming on his cheek hurts nearly as much as the clean hole his upper abdomen now sports.

“Until then, don’t waste even a single breath of energy for unnecessary movements simply for the sake of _looking cool, Joker._ ”

Akira is send flying to the floor again, but Akechi is on him in the next second. Even though his vision gets blurrier and blurrier, body and limbs heavier with each action, he can’t allow himself to go down.

Akira won’t be able to land a hit on him, not when he's lke this.

Currently it’s Akechi attacking him, too fast for Akira to block everything, yet slow enough that he’s… getting cut into pieces at a considerate pace.

Akechi is _toying_ with him, and judging by how neither of them barely used their personas, it dawns on Akira that he might not even get that scratch on Akechi if Robin Hood never even moved from his spot.

He refuses to use his own persona as a response, knows it wouldn't make a significant difference.

Every cell in his body hurts, his mind repeatedly screaming at him to stop and just give up.

He feels parts of his rib-cage shatter for real this time after taking a heavy knee to them, followed by a thrust of a light saber that pierces his left forearm, effectively sending another wave of throbbing shock through him.

But Akira can’t give up, not now. This right now is a rare opportunity Akechi has given him to prove _something_.

He doesn’t really remember what it is that he’s trying to prove, what keeps Akira standing even though his legs should have given out a long time ago, but Akira doesn’t have time to think, not when Akechi is in front of him, more palpable than ever.

All Akira knows is that he needs to _act_ right now, or he'll loose something else than just their fight.

The already desperate parts of his brain go into heated overdrive as they quickly formulate the concept of a plan. Akira dodges a vertical swing of Akechi's weapon by a hair-length, earning a delightful, but morbid chuckle as a response.

“More!”, Akechi yells as he continues to push and push Akira, forcing the thief to evade another thrust of his saber.

Akechi doesn't give Akira any room to think, following with a rapid section of slices that tear away the rest of black sleeves, ruining the forearms that guard Akira's face in X position even further.

_“Show me more, show me how desp **erate you are to break out!”**_

Suddenly the air feels hot and cold at the same time, and the pressure enveloping Akira for the briefest of moments robs all of the air in his lungs.

It feels like the universe briefly stopped for a moment, the only thing that is moving being Akechi's left arm, ever so slowly drawing backwards.

Time resumes just as quickly, and by some miracle, Akira manages to evade Akechi's next attack, the light saber barely missing Akira's side and upper arm.

Both opponents still as a torrent of wind completely tears the remaining equipment behind them apart, shattering still-intact mirrors and creating a whirlwind of debris and broken things that fly around their heads.

That wasn't a skill, Akira realizes.

That had been a simple pierce, aimed for Akira's heart.

That generic, physical standard attack would have torn his body to _shreds_ if it would have connected, and had caused a whole storm to run havoc in the dance room, all while having hit nothing but empty air.

Judging by the glint in Akechi’s eyes, he knows that those exact thoughts run through Akira's mind. 

They’re still standing in the same spot, staring into each-others eyes, Akira’s body bent to the side and one arm lifted, Akechi’s arm outstretched in a perfect line, an echo of an attempt to completely eradicate Akira’s existence with just one attack.

The howling wind around them only now begins to settle.

Akira’s heart is beating too fast in its ribcage. He can't control his frozen limbs, and his mind is a complete mess at attempting to process what just happened.

How many times must have Akechi practiced such a banal motion, the simple action of thrusting his light saber forward for it to cause more destruction than an actual skill without even hitting anything? 

But the smile that starts cracking Akira's already bloody lips even more feels _good_ , and it serves to distract Akechi just a bit for Akira’s grip on his dagger to tighten, grim resolve steeling his nerves.

The throbbing of his body, the pained cries that are too loud and yet so far at the same time-

Akira _knows_ he has never felt more alive.

Akechi is unsurprisingly fast enough to deflect the incoming thrust of his dagger by reeling his previously outstretched blade back and deflecting it similarly like his first attack, but Akira anticipated it, changes focus to his other, unoccupied hand.

He feels the flicker of an unknown force lapping at his core, making everything hurt so much worse, yet filling him with a sense of power that has his body vibrating.

Akira’s fist crashes onto Akechi’s wrist with a speed and force neither of them expected, and the light saber is send flying into the air.

Akechi’s eyes widen, and Akira finally sees an opportunity, seizes it with deadly accuracy.

He immediately closes their distance, not hesitating to pull his dagger back, and starts a new series of attacks and combos on the now disarmed man.

Akira feels faster, lighter than before, movement easier compared to the beginning even though his body is in a much worse state, skin a bloody mess where he had gotten hit by Akechi's weapon.

Everything aches as Akira continues to push himself, but he still can’t even strife Akechi, the man dodging and twisting his body into every, imaginable angle that only drive Akira's attacks even harder, coaxing more out of the power slowly seeping into his entire being.

He’d at least force him to use his persona for _real_ , not as an attempt to get Akira moving from his spot – but Akechi just doesn’t, keeps being on the defense as they dance across the destroyed room, and Akira grits his teeth, feels despair starting to numb some of the pain that’s been splitting his thoughts apart since the first punch of Akechi connected.

After what couldn't have been more than five seconds, but felt like hours Akira finally sees an opening when Akechi’s two hands are suddenly occupied, one preventing a dagger from cutting into his shoulder, the other wide behind him, having just repelled a forceful kick into nothingness.

He won’t defeat him, won’t even scratch him – but in this brief moment Akechi is defenseless, all limbs occupied, eyes wide through the mask and he simply _has_ _no choice but to resort to his persona to-_

A crushing pain flares up in his hand and Akira cries out, loosing all the momentum he built up until now as something suddenly prevents him from moving.

He uselessly sinks down and crashes onto his stomach, the waves of power that previously enveloped him stripped away.

When Akira groogily uses the bits of meager strength he has left to open his eyes, he can't help but choke out a laugh.

His dagger hand is neatly pinned to the ground by the long line of Akechi's light saber.

All anger, all accumulated emotion leave Akira in an instant, and he continues to laugh, broken and bloody, hurting in so many places that he can't tell where it starts and ends.

Just like that, his entire energy is gone, and Akira is left on the floor to gasp for every bit of air, completely at Akechi's mercy.

Empty.

“You predicted that I’d go for your hand,” Akira manages to wheeze out.

There’s a concerning amount of blood running down the lines of his mouth, but it’s hardly an unusual sensation anymore, adding into the smudged, dark patterns on the partially destroyed floor.

It’s uncomfortable, laying on his clothes like this, uneven edges digging into his skin through the remnants of his clothes, further pressing into his wounds, too many to count.

He coughs, watches more red splatter prettily in front of pristine, black shoes that halt in front of him.

“You predicted that I’d go for your weapon. My best chance at hitting you was to disarm you, seeing as you barely used your persona on purpose. You managed to figure out the distance and numbers of steps I’d take charging at you afterwards, then deliberately slipped up at the right time."

The world around him is blurry, but Akira tries to focus on the words lying heavy on his tongue. "You knew I’d be able to see the minuscule window you gave me, acted like I managed to knock the weapon out of your hand when in reality you threw it upwards, knowing it’d pin me to the ground when I’d be the most assured of my own, personal victory.”

Akira has never felt this hopeless before.

He also can't recall ever admiring and fearing a person to the extent he's currently feeling.

“Your analysis abilities,” he finishes his observation, each syllabel trembling as Akira grips at his consciousness with all he can, “is tremendously frightening. You simply _had_ to win in such a dramatic, weird way instead of just beating me straight onward, didn’t you?”

He knows Akechi is smart, but this-

It’s a level that exceeds his expectations.

Akechi doesn’t say anything for a while, lets Akira bleed on the floor before he finally crouches down, just enough so Akira can see that he pushed his mask to the side, wine eyes watching him almost carefully.

“While I knew your speed, body mass and prefered fighting style, I admit it was still a bit of a gamble. There was no way I could have truly known how many steps you’d take, especially with how unfamiliar your moves became to me when you started to rely more and more on Taekwondo. It's true that I wanted to pin you down with your hand, which I achieved, but it could have pierced your shoulder or leg instead, and therefor ruined my composition."

A sigh that almost sounds fond if not for the lingering traces of madness clinging to the edge of Akechi's voice.

"Still, you've impressed me once again. None would have been able to fight after the second slash I gave you, much less figure out what I planned.”

Akira feels said wound throbbing continuously on his back; a clean cut from his nape to his tailbone.

Frighteningly precise, not hurting him beyond repair yet again, inflicted when Akira had attempted to duck under a particularly wide swing of the saber.

Pain like hellfire clawing at the skin of his back, intend to tear it open and look underneath.

“ _And_ you’ve already utilized parts of your real power without even noticing it.”

Akira’s entirey body dully throbs, and he remembers the feeling of _something_ rushing through him, spreading to his fingertips, making him clutch his weapon hard with an unknown resolve.

“Even if you would have miscalculated everything,” Akira mumbles tiredly, words on the edge of trailing into nothingness “I’m sure you would have still found a way to dodge that punch.”

“I was fast enough to simply kick your chin,” Akechi retorts, not sugar-coating that he could have ruined the apex of Akira's hard work with something as simple as that. “You use your legs quite well, but while you recognize that I’m moving my body as a whole, you tend to focus only on specific parts that are active and blend out the seemingly inactive ones.”

Akira doesn’t understand too much anymore - his eyelids are already halfway closed, and he really wants to sleep for a week, maybe an entire month to recover from this.

Akira feels a soothing, warm feeling wash all over his body like a gentle breeze, and he knows Akechi must have pulled out a healing persona, starting to repair what the fight inflicted on him.

Broken bones snap back into their place, sliced muscle tissue melds together, skin covers previously raw flesh again as his body is slowly getting restored to its previous state.

The blade pinning his hand to the ground gets pulled out, and Akira inwardly grimaces when even the healing effects barely reduce the throbbing burn that is left behind.

When the warmth enevloping his body slowly retracts, Akira still feels the echo of pain going through his body, the reminder of every slice and punch and kick that should have all killed him if not for the fact that Akechi was holding himself back yet again.

Akira shoves the feeling of longing and desire back where they can’t reach him, the taste of heat that caused his body to move beyond what he thought possible a dull memory.

He knows Akechi just wanted to test him, but...

“You’ve met my expectations and so much more," Akechi says, almost fondly.

Maybe if he gives into the darkness, the wounds that are already healed will stop hurting - Akira is just so goddamn tired right now.

“Now I know what I have to work with. By the end of the next month, you'll make shadows and people alike tremble with so much as a gaze."

A hand might shortly card through his hair, but Akira can’t be sure, not when his whole body is suddenly so wonderfully numb and he's already slipping away.

“But rest now - you've fought well.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _regarding the context: the reason why our detective didn't know or saw any of Akira's experience with Taekwondo prior (i did it for like 13 years myself lol) is because Akira has been never really forced to use it, seeing as it's more of an old instinct awakening when he's in a true pinch, not the ambush the Phantom Thieves occasionally find themselves in. Akira felt in true danger for the first time in his life when he recognized the difference in power between the two of them, and therefor immediately gave it his all, martial art skills re-awakening :3 With bosses or other palace rulers it had never felt this intense, plus he had his members to back him up as well._
> 
> _If some people question why Akechi appears to be a bit OP - rightfully so! His level had been higher than my member's when he joined for the extra palace in the third semester even though I had previously beaten Shido and that God whose name I can never spell. And he'd been carrying that power through Sae's palace all along… it doesn't make sense to me that he died in canon in the engine room power-wise. Heck, couldn't they have blasted down the wall with some spells and then just revive him -_-?_
> 
> This fight is sponsored by God of Highschool! I binged the manhwa in 4 days about a week ago which turned out to be one of my best decisions in life. Absolutely mindblowing manhwa, and certain to influence the fighting scenes a bit haha. They may be a bit unrealistic at times, but I hope they still make enough sense for you to enjoy it nonetheless (but I really wanted Akechi to win in a stupid, dramatic way just because he can >>)
> 
> Shadow Akechi will still take a while to appear, but I promise there's a reason for his lack of presence, please bear with me :)!
> 
> We'll venture outside of the Metaverse for a bit next chapter to spice things a little up, so please stay tuned!


	5. you pray, hands joined

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just realized _Silent Night_ by **Dreamcatcher** is a wonderful take on their relationship? Like what- the lyrics resonate so much within me, hehe.
> 
> Anyway, for everyone still reading this mess: thank you <3 To those taking their precious time to write a comment for my humble fanfic: you're wonderful persons, I can't stress this enough!
> 
> Please enjoy the new chapter where the plot shows signs of first kicking in. I think.

###  December 1st, Thursday

“Sae-san!”

She freezes before regaining her composure in the next second.

Turning with her usual stoic, but dignified face to the direction where the call of her name came from, she feels her insides starting to restrict.

With his signature briefcase in hand, Akechi catches up to her, not a hair out of place as both pull aside from the middle of the hallway to not block it completely for other employees.

Despite the rather early morning, a steady flock of people continue to pass them. None bothers to spare them more than a few glances, already used to seeing them together.

For a split second Sae fears that Akechi knows of her afflictions with the remaining Phantom Thieves, but then reminds herself that it’s his first day of work after his vacation, and that there is no way he could know because he'd not been in contact with her nor made an appearance in LeBlanc. 

“Akechi-kun,” she mumbles, not hiding her surprise.

Usually Sae is the one approaching him, and as much as she hates relying on others, especially on _him,_ she can’t deny that he has an extraordinarily sharp mind with an irritatingly refreshing perspective.

When Akechi is the one to inquire about something first, it sometimes still makes Sae feel like she is the one depending on their conversation.

She thinks of his solved cases, most nothing but frauds to acquire his current position, and it probably makes the small smile on her face stretch a bit more than it should.

“I hoped to stumble into you,” Akechi continues, corners of his lips lifting. “As you might have noticed, I’ve been on a break longer than usual.”

Sae raises an eyebrow, quite aware of his reason for absence. “Do you want me to fill you in on what happened in the meantime? There is not much to say, I'm afraid.”

Akechi’s chuckle is bright and melodious, filling the space around them with ease. Sae would have been irritated at enjoying it so much before.

Now she can barely suppress the shiver running down her back at record time, thinking about what it actually contains.

_Or restraints._

Even after everything the Phantom Thieves have told her – even after Makoto shared her own, more personal views on the detective over dinner, carefully displaying subjective observations in addition to their suspicion on how Akechi actually operates behind the scenes, Sae still finds it hard to believe that such a monstrosity lies beneath a face as pretty as his.

“Gods, no.” Akechi fumbles with his briefcase, slips it into his right hand.

The action would have gone unnoticed two weeks before, but Sae can't help the way her mind suddenly starts to pick the ordinary motion apart.

Is it a deliberate sign to try and display nervousness? Some sort of weakness that would lead Sae to sub-consciously feel like she has the upper hand in this conservation, thus making her confident and more prone to reveal things she wouldn’t if she didn’t feel like being the one to direct the flow?

How many times had he done that already, successfully manipulating her into a vague direction without her notice, no matter how insignificant it may have seemed at first glance?

Sae inwardly shakes her head. Surely she's reading a bit much into such whimsical, fleeting gestures, even for Akechi's standards.

“But..." A slight tilt of his head. "I am rather curious as to how your investigation with the Phantom Thieves have progressed?”

A cold wave washes over her, makes her cross her arms over her chest. Sae reminds herself that Akechi still doesn't know and asked out of entirely different reasons, not for the one she can't help but feel anxious about.

“You know that I’ve been pulled off the case.”

The smile he offers her couldn't have been more innocent and harmless. “We both know you’re still following their lead.”

_But you don’t know I’ve already found and sided with them._

Akechi still has the same, pleasant expression on his face as he greets back a co-worker in the passing, eyes leaving her for a short friction of time, and Sae uses the miniscule distraction to momentarily collect herself.

This... is harder than she thought it would be. Makoto and her friends told her to act normal, but it seems like the more she tries to be her usual calm and collected self, the harder it becomes.

Thinking about what lurks beneath Akechi’s pleasant smile and glowing eyes doesn’t alleviate any of her piling problems, and further off-sets axes and expectations of him she had once been so sure of.

Does she usually sneer at Akechi now, clearly vocalizing her distaste for his probing? Or give in and slip some information in hopes of gaining either a break from him or some sort of approval to reaffirm her beliefs?

She could re-direct the entire topic as well.

The knowledge about his supposed true nature alone bears heavy on her shoulders that had only recently begun to feel less tense, especially knowing that nothing she could do would prove his crimes, the tools and means to do so out of her reach with the existence of an entirely different reality Sae has no access to.

She ~~hopes~~ knows she looks composed on the outside, but inwardly she’s shaking at the aspect of Akechi discovering her momentarily switch of sides and the possible consequences that might come.

He could very well enter her palace (she apparently still has one) and induce a… mental shutdown of sorts, and Sae would be none the wiser, no method to defend herself against Akechi's frightening influence on her mentality.

The only thing she'd have are the remaining members of the Phantom Thieves acting as her defense line in her cognitive world (they apologized profoundly for entering it in the first place, something which inclined to set a weird stirr in Sae's stomach, nothing she can put a proper name to) but from what Makoto had told her, they were in no shape to take him on at the moment, Akechi's abilities grander than any of them anticipated.

Not exactly a reassuring thought, but she has little options aside from trusting her little sister for what she's saying, and Sae knows they've been working diligently on overcoming their gap in power in Mementos.

Sae still has a hard time to wrap her head around the whole Metaverse thing the Phantom Thieves talk so nonchalantly about, but like Akechi said in that one interview of his – many things become clearer if you’re willing to believe that they’re true.

Sae decides to not think _too_ much or else a slip up is practically guaranteed, and just nods. “I’ve received an anonymous tip on who their leader might be, but it proved to be a fraud. Not the first time it happened, and it won't be the last.”

“I see,” Akechi says, lowering his eyes and putting his chin in his hand. “That’s still a shame.”

It’s fascinating to see him change from polite and pleasant to despondent and emphatic in a heartbeat.

As if it personally affects him to hear about her projected failure to the point where it oozes off of his entire persona, making Sae actually feel like what she just said is true in addition tofeeling sorry for her own, unofficial case.

It’s as if an artist constantly paints over Akechi's face, wiping creations clean within only a few seconds, yet the intensity of each leaves a lasting, pivotal impression behind. 

The slight crease of his eyebrows, the gaze towards the floor that indicates mild commiseration but doesn’t come over as forced or misplaced; the way his body is angled towards her but slightly hunched, open yet defensive due to her confession at the same time.

All would have gone unnoticed prior, simply taken in as a whole picture, unaware of the effects but feeling them anyway.

No wonder Akechi has been fooling the entire world the moment his face first appeared on TV, and Sae shouldn't feel too bad about falling for his rightful detective image when everybody else did - but anger directed at him, at _herself_ still makes her blood seethe. 

“It certainly is.” She ponders for a moment, debates, then adds in a more interested tone, “How did your vacation go? It’s quite rare to see you take one that lasts longer than two days.”

Sae’s comment makes Akechi’s eyes widen briefly before a hand comes up to sheepishly rub the back of his head, and she realizes how much time had passed without her saying anything, caught up in her mind.

“My apologies, I got a bit lost in my thoughts,” Akechi says instead, and Sae feels even more inept.

His gloves stretch just a bit more around the handle, and Sae sees the smile that flitters onto his face making the female cleaner approaching almost crash her cart into the wall. “Could you please repeat what you said?”

“It’s not important anyway,” she responds, hopes that her more sentimental interest in his holidays would be interpreted as polite curiosity over a change of routine.

In a softer tone, Sae adds, “I admit that your absence felt a bit off, though. After all, it _is_ reassuring to have you here, no matter how annoying you sometimes get.”

The smile Akechi now sends her is a bit sharper than the previous one, but still staying within its boundaries and nonetheless bright. Eyes form pretty crescents.

“Don’t worry Sae-san. I’ll make up for my absence by staying inside of my office most of the time tomorrow. You can stop by whenever you feel the need to see me, and I’ll have a look at your current investigations as well. Maybe we can pick up some actual dirt behind the fake-call, hmm?”

There it is, the slip of information she hadn't dared expecting, but hoped for anyway.

Sae makes a mental note to text Makoto that Akechi will be busy most of the today tomorrow to catch up on what he missed, more importantly in an area where she can supervise him.

She offers a curl of her own lips that isn’t entirely practiced. “I’ll take you up on that, but make sure to not overwork yourself. You have, after all, just gotten off of holiday which you definitely needed.”

She isn't lying when she says that; the amount of make-up he normally uses generously reduced.

It's about one of the only things Sae had noticed that stayed true even now. Since she uses the same type of products to hide the fact that she's been working way more than she should, the current lack of it on Akechi's face makes her question what exactly he did to accomplish that. 

From Makoto and her friends she knows he's not been on an _actual_ vacation.

“I won’t,” Akechi cheerfully says, then takes a look at the watch hidden beneath his sleeves.

“My apologies,” he suddenly exclaims, expression turning crestfallen as if it pains him to end the conversation early. “It seems like I ended up chatting longer than I intended to. There is much work to be done, even if I took some home with me. If you’d excuse me.”

A bit baffled, Sae nods, but moves her body in a way that indicates she's ready to end the conversation as well. “Just remember my words.”

“I will. Do contact me if you need a fresh perspective or input,” Akechi responds.

The detective sends her a last, sheepish smile before walking past her slower form, peacoat fitted tightly over broad shoulders Sae knows half of Japan's female population is swooning about.

She watches him, the absence of his presence leaving behind a dull, uncomfortable lack of space, accompanied by a bitter aftertaste on her tongue.

###  December 2nd, Friday

Akira is covered in cuts and bruises, limp on the floor the moment Akechi enters the dancing room.

It’s only his third day of training (sixth when counting in Metaverse time), but by the looks of it, Akechi guesses there are no broken bones involved this time.

Maybe a fracture or two, a dislocation, some deeper punctures where Robin Hood's arrow lodged themselves into his skin, but it remains a rather impressive improvement for such a short amount of time.

Akechi would, however, lie about being surprised at this development. Akira had always soaked up new knowledge like a sponge, and what Akechi teaches him here is no different from calculus or making coffee in its core essence.

In addition to that, Akechi instructs cognitive Robin Hood to fight him for _hours_ to make up for for his own lack of presence, and the fact that the persona has to pull its punches as to not overwhelm Akira immediately from the start.

Akechi can still remember the first time they've properly fought here, and it’s a wonderful memory, sure to last for an eternity.

The moment Akechi summoned Robin Hood, finally able to unleash the power he had to keep in check around the little band of thieves, Akira had immediately recognized him for all Akechi was; a major threat to his life if Akira doesn't pour his entire being in his next moves.

Akira may not have realized it, but he cut his thoughts off of everything, focused on nothing but the battle and Akechi himself, sub-consciously knowing anything else would hold him back and serve in his death.

Well, not that Akechi would have really killed him, because casting any sort of healing spells go against his nature, and Samarecarm feels like swimming a waterfall upwards most often than not.

But it had felt _wonderful_ , being the center of Akira's attention, every fiber of his battered, bloody being forcefully pulled together simply for the sake of Landing just one hit on Akechi.

Everything aside from them and their personas ceased to exist, the battle and its primal emotions rising to heights unexplored, but sought after.

Just as it should be.

Akechi had been mildly surprised when he saw flickers of red and black enveloping parts of Akira’s body halfway through their first fight, forcing Akechi to use more of his held-back strength in order to dodge his attacks, but the sheer euphoria that flooded him in the next seconds when he realized that at least in fighting, Akira will be letting go a lot sooner than anticipated, already dipping into the source of his own chaos within him-

Nothing but a marvelous sight, and Akechi feels immense pride about being the one to coax it out of Akira.

Akira may have a week will outside of battle, but inside he's anything but, dangerously calculative and adaptive that forced Akechi to pay more attention than the sheer gap in raw strength and power between them would initially suggest.

But there are a lot of flaws and mistakes Akechi will have to correct over the course of the next weeks.

Akira still concentrates too much on only the active parts of his body, favoring new, shiny techniques over reliable old ones, applies force and spells through a much large area rather than a comprised, smaller one that holds more destructiveness.

He wastes a lot of energy as well, having the tendency to show off at times and do movement larger than necessary, something Akira can allow to influence his newly developing fighting style later on, but not when he needs to get the basics down which leave no place for bad habits to develop.

Reading his enemie's movements is something Akira already does well, not surprising giving his nature, but Akira still hesitates and falls easily into openings and feints Akechi deliberately makes for him, a bi-product of reality Akechi plans on partially erasing through combat.

Granted, Akechi doesn't hold back more than he should. He is merciless when it comes to beating him and drilling lessons into Akira that leave little room for error, if any at all.

But Akira deserves the best of the best, someone that drives him to his limits each and every time and beyond without ever truly breaking him.

Someone stronger than him, because Akira won't grow otherwise, won't ever gain something out of fighting a weak opponent.

As he kneels on the floor next to the younger male’s still form, Akechi instructs a pixie (regretfully the only healing persona he could bind to himself - every other refuses him) to begin the healing process.

It would not recover the energy itself Akira had been using throughout the training, and that is something Akechi always looks forward to whenever he comes into his palace to see a fight still ongoing. Or ending.

Akechi would drag Akira through the shower, put him to bed and then proceed to wrap his arms around his beaten, deeply exhausted frame, enjoying the lack of resistance Akira would usually show that allows Akechi to indulge in his own, physical needs for once until Akira either recovers enough to shake him off, or Akechi needs to leave for reality again.

He knows that Akira hates his body for melting so easily against Akechi’s frame each time, pliant just after a few, careful touches, but cognitive Robin Hood or Akechi himself force him to spend every bits of strength available to him in each of their sessions, barely leaving energy for Akira to move around after that.

Akira would only give out a few noises of protests, but is overall unable to really do much against whatever position Akechi chooses to... cuddle him in.

It’s a tremendously wonderful experience, even if Akechi hates the absurdness of the verb describing the act of draping himself over the lax body of Akira, pulling him impossibly close.

Right now, Akira’s vest is enticingly torn in the middle, and it would be very easy to trace glistening muscles with his gloves.

He remembers pale skin sliced open by _his_ weapon, dripping a beautiful color all over the floor while adrenaline and desperate determination made steel eyes seem like they cut could through everything.

Akechi carefully breathes in to not let his thoughts stray any further, cups a bruised cheek instead which is slowly returning to its normal color, and lifts the head sunken to the side.

“Akira,” he mumbles, thumbing over soft skin.

It’s the second time he has not been present for the training which they’d schedule at random, whimsical intervals (the only condition being that Akira has to do it at least once every day), but judging by how ridiculously long eyelashes flatter open, focusing faster on him than previous times, Akechi knows Akira has been diligently working on what Akechi told him.

_Your raw, natural talent is astonishing, but you forget what you’ve learned in favor of the new, shiny things. Focus on the basic first – if you can’t master them, how do you expect to use advanced techniques whose foundations are precisely the stances and movements you neglected?_

When it’s Akechi training him, they’re doing nothing but hand-to-hand combat, focusing on what Akira has already learned and integrating that beyond just his muscle Memory, occasionally using their weapons as well.

Each punch and kick should come as natural as moving his legs to walk, and Akechi makes him repeat the same, simple basics for hours to achieve exactly that.

On the other hand, if Akechi is away and focusing on keeping matters intact outside of the Metaverse, cognitive Robin Hood takes his place, forcing Akira to work on his defense and stamina more, but not neglecting what he previously learned.

It’s an efficient combination, pushing Akira more and more each time Akechi lands another hit, dodges another attack of Akira’s, and while he has yet to see the call of desire enveloping Akira again, he’s making vast improvements to the point where Akechi thinks about starting persona training soon.

Well, he still has a while to think about that.

Akira makes a pitiful sight at the moment, but Akechi knows he’s in a better state than he usually is, chest still heaving upwards and downwards in rapid sessions, gray eyes clear through the fog of pain.

Akechi hasn't used Loki since he confirmed that he's the black mask, but there's little doubt that sooner or later he will have to (or at least resort to use cognitive Loki), seeing Akira's rapid development.

It’s a thought that irritates him at times – they’re still rivals, after all, and what took Akechi arduous years to master, Akira is starting to show signs of overcoming within only a few months.

But the vision of Akira fighting Akechi heads on, meeting him with a strength and resolve worthy of Akechi unleashing every bits of mad power he has is much more of a tantalizing thought than keeping Akira as a fledgling by his side all the time.

Oh, they'd both ascend past human's imagination, without restrictions to limit what they could, and that makes Akechi push Akira just a bit harder each time.

Shaking his head, Akechi focuses back on the presence.

Pressing his gloved fingertip a bit harder into a still-present bruise on a lower area of Akira's jaw, Akechi hears him muster a faint groan.

The sweetest knowledge is probably that Akira _enjoys_ these fights as much as Akechi does.

Granted, it’s not an illogical thought, this being the only opportunity for Akira to overcome Akechi and possibly even his palace if he just tries hard enough, given the promise Akechi offered him when he first summoned Robin Hood.

A chance for revenge, an opportunity to re-unite with his beloved ones if he's faster, stronger, _better._

But it doesn’t explain the determined glint Akira gets in his eyes each time Akechi looks at him with the proposal for a battle on his lips, and it doesn’t explain how easily, how _natural_ Akira looses himself in their deadly dances, face a lot more expressive than usual, probably without him realizing it.

Competitiveness had always played an important, if not the most vital factor in their relationship, and it peaks when fighting.

They’ve held sparring battles in the Metaverse before, but Akechi had always done his best to restrain the power tugging at his limbs, telling him to move faster, deadlier, Loki furiously clawing his throat and demanding to take over and just rip everything to shreds, taking Akira with him.

It must have been a first for Akira, being defeated so crushingly and mesmerizingly.

And it fills Akechi with a deep satisfaction, making everything so much more fulfilling – Akechi is Akira’s first, _real_ challenge.

Both of them always strive to do better than the other, gaining the edge in every single, little aspect, no matter how mundane the activity may seem. Cooking had been one of those, a field Akechi admits to being helplessly inferior to his rival.

But in their most important area, the one that always maintains the most upper position, regardless in how many other aspects of life they succeed or fail - in battle Akira looses, painstakingly obvious so.

But because they're more alike than Akira would want to admit at the moment, Akechi knows that Akira would not, _can't_ dwell on his defeat, so he puts all he has into each of their sessions, all of his dedication and effort dedicated towards what Akechi is willing to teach him with a brutal, but effective hand. 

And Akira doesn't really realize it, that Akechi is subtly pushing him into that direction in their fights because it's a mechanism resulting of the nature of their relationship, something that had always been present even from the start.

Akechi can't call it manipulation when it's simply using a mean that's been exposed not only to him, but to the public as well - their competitive nature is no secret.

So Akira doesn't give him anything less than his best each time they go to the dancing rooms, no matter how many times the thief claims that thousand repetitions of a single kick would bore him.

He may justify his means with his friends, him wearing himself out for the sake of becoming strong enough to escape, but Akechi knows the actual reasons that linger behind those false conjurations acting as a soothing balm for his conscience.

Akechi can’t wait for the day Akira finally reaches his level, maybe even surpass him, because Akechi wants a real match where both are at the apex of their power, _needing_ to call out every bit of it in order to even have a chance at beating the other.

And Akechi would still win, less for the sake of rightfully claiming the privilege of feeling superior and better, and more to claim Akira for real, to remind him that no other person in this world aside from Akechi could ever hope to match him.

Akechi would be the only one to give Akira what he needs, and he'd also be the only one with the ability to take that away.

_No one else._

“How long?”, Akechi asks, voice not betraying the torrent of thoughts previously stirring up his insides in the most sinful ways.

“...1 hours and 21 minutes,” comes the tired, barely audible reply.

Akechi lets the smile bloom darker, but also appreciative, feels the pixie vanish back inside of him. Its presence is barely a drop in the well of power that were his other personas.

“Ten more minutes than yesterday. Well done.”

Akechi always loves the lack of protest whenever he scoops the other into his arms like this after straining training sessions, but he nearly falters when he feels Akira responding by snuggling into his chest the tiniest bit.

This is… the first time it happened.

Akira is soft, tired and half-dead by the time training is done, sure, but he usually simply lets Akechi’s action wash over him, not reacting in any positive or overly negative way.

Feeble noises of protest at most, because that's about the only thing his energy levels are still capable of producing in their state.

As Akechi walks the familiar halls streaked with odd flairs of blue, he realizes that it actually makes a lot of sense.

Akechi had not done anything to force himself on Akira during his stay, did nothing but give him space, indulge the other in some of his more whimsical wishes like cooking, and since Akira is not used to not receiving anything, not even as a return to what he's been giving, his body slowly starts to realize what it has been neglected of, and therefor makes him prone to act more sub-consciously like this, seeking the bits of affection Akechi offers.

Especially when Akira is as weak and helpless as he is now.

Mumbling incoherent words of praise into black, soft strands, Akechi does little to hide his repugnant grin when he feels the thief pressing his back against Akechi’s front just a tad more, already halfway into sleep.

Akechi disentangles himself when Akira’s breath evens out completely on the safety of his bed, not wanting to wake him, even if dirty clothes and clean sheets don't mix well with each-other.

Both are a matter of cognition anyway, so he supposes it wouldn't matter too much for one night.

He will probably miss cooked dinner again and will have to resort to his usual resort of food - but honestly, Akechi could hardly care less, not when bits and pieces of his plan continue to fall into their respectful places.

###  December 3rd, Saturday

It feels so different, infiltrating a palace without their usual leader by their side.

Sae managed to get a decent outline of Akechi’s work- and a even a few school-hours. They’ve been working around those, slipping into his palace to try and secure a route through, hopeful of finding Akira or Ryuji despite Morgana claiming that he doesn’t feel the latter’s presence in there.

Their first appearance must have caused a change in cognition within the palace, because the second time they entered it, they weren’t able to breeze through the shadows anymore.

Quite the contrary – they had to retreat after hitting the twenty minute mark, sporting injuries that medicine barely covered anymore, but that used too much energy for healing spells to allow further Progress - even after spending a good amount of time in Mementos.

They're on their second infiltration, steadily working their way through.

Unexpectedly, Makoto has taken the role of the leader for the time being, a temporary solution everybody agreed on. But while she is doing a capable job, it’s clear that their progress is obnoxiously slow and far from what everyone is used to.

Makoto is good at multi-tasking and has an adequate view over the entire battlefield together with Futaba, but Ann feels like it takes a lot more effort on her side to follow through with her commands in comparison to the ease in which she accommodates to Akira.

Additionally to that, Makoto seems to have a hard time to properly utilize each of their strengths to their maximum potential.

More than once was the group forced to act individually on their own to evade incoming attacks or miscalculated choices Makoto made, and although she makes sure to always apologize afterwards, it does little to deter the overall wish of having their leader back.

She excels in theory, but when actually trying to execute it, Makoto lacks severely, something she notices herself, but only adds into the steady spiral of unsureness and self-conscious leading. 

Akira just... seems to know them a lot better.

It's a logical conclusion, of course, seeing as he had been there when the Phantom Thieves were established and Makoto only joined after Yusuke did.

But it really is a far-cry from Akira who reads them like open books sometimes - utilizing their spells, knowing what areas they exceed in and in which they don't, taking even passive abilities into consideration they've never really told him about.

He just... always seems to know, using his knowledge about them to the absolute maximum and inducing chain- and all-out attacks that have the enemy moping around the floor for days.

Not to discredit Makoto. She's a powerhouse of physical and nuclear power on her own, does well enough despite the occasional slip up, and she collects a considerate amount of knowledge over their enemies and their potential weaknesses, finding them out earlier than they or even Akira does sometimes - but clearing a palace with her leading is so different from the familiarity Akira infuses their names with commands so naturally.

But their pace of going through the halls, various rooms and extravagant stages really leave much to be desired, especially when Ann is so used to just rushing through the places – Makoto actually walks at a faster pace than Akira, but she looses their path more often than enough, fails to see camouflaged security cameras and hidden entrances that makes the rest of the group question how in the world Akira saw them beforehand.

Ann is glad she hadn’t been elected for Akira’s temporary replacement – she doesn’t lead, she _follows_ , and seeing calm, precise Makoto struggle with something that all thought would come natural to her is a weird, almost uncomfortable experience.

She never really thought about how hard it is to be a leader, to have a responsibility of the entire team resting on one’s shoulders because Akira makes it looks so damn easy.

It’s part of the reason everybody seeks his approval when doing something, unrelated if they are unsure or simply want a second opinion – their leader oozes confidence when his midnight coat drapes around his lithe frame, guiding their way so self-assuredly as if it is obvious which way to choose, when to attack or when to hide and evade.

It’s only natural that they’d want his confirmation because of their lack of – yeah, what is it? Self confidence? Ann shakes her head.

They tend to overestimate themselves from time to time, so that can’t be it. She rakes her brain through possible answers, but realizes that she can’t come up with other reasons as to why they rely so heavily on Akira, and why Makoto feels so odd in her position.

Maybe it’s as simple as him being so gravitating.

He’d been a bland, simple person before Ann got to know him, his large glasses hiding a majority of his face most of the time. Unassuming. He didn’t seem like the delinquent everyone made him out to be, but he also never did anything to discourage the rumors, keeping to himself.

Akira just blended in so well with his surrounding, an ever-there presence you never really noticed unless you actively try to look for it.

She recalls having briefly met him when she waited for the rain to cease on the first day of school. Ann had sensed his starring, smiled kindly at him because it's the usual reaction to her foreign, but attractive looks.

For a long time, Ann had felt like a radiating beacon, completely overshadowing him with her magnitude.

And Ann will never forget the rush of contradicting feelings that swept her off her feet when she had stolen his glasses out of a little teasing, only to reveal a face model agencies would crawl on the floor for.

“Why do you hide?”, she remembers asking, glasses threatening to fall from her weak grasp because Ann couldn’t really focus on anything else than Akira’s mesmerizingly stunning face, his entire presence suddenly overwhelming and _there,_ earning a few, interested looks from passersby where they stopped in the middle of the street.

She idly wonders if Yusuke would have still chosen her as his muse if he would have been exposed to Akira's face beforehand.

Flawless skin that seemingly doesn’t any need make-up, pretty and regal cheekbones, soft-looking lips, large, intense eyes that nervously darted between Ann and her hand, and those _eyelashes_.

Ann would commit cold blooded murder for those eyelashes and not regret a single thing.

Akira had looked sheepish, uncomfortable nearly, shaking his head so that his hair could make up for the lack of protection around his eyes. Just like that, most of the magic was gone, and Ann suddenly felt like the world was lacking and dull, vicinity around her drained with color and dipped into monochrome streaks.

“It’s easier to go unnoticed," he had justified his need for fake glasses as she wordlessly gave them back.

Since then, Ann couldn’t help but look at him with a new angle. The fact that he is not utilizing his face to its utmost potential baffles her as much as it makes her… envious, but it also speaks for his humble qualities.

But Ann had been there almost from the beginning start, had seen Akira’s unassuming background personality develop such a mystical pull to the point that people flock to him even when he has his glasses on, recognizing his potential and seeking his charisma from afar.

More often than not, Akira looks completely overwhelmed with the attention others would, again, kill to have. Mishima being a primary example to that if he weren't so hopelessly enamored with the leader of his beloved Phantom Thieves.

Ann wonders if Akira protects _himself_ with the glasses, or if they're a mean to protect everyone else around him from his influence without.

And as Joker – he completely _lives_ his charisma that he denies having outside of the Metaverse, lives the show he puts on that leaves everybody annoyed as much as it leaves them gaping, wondering and- envying as well.

As if compensating for what he doesn’t, or can’t do in real-life.

Ann feels like she misses something in the grand picture, but no matter how hard she rakes her brain over it, she can’t put a finger to it.

Ann is pretty and foreign, has a loving persona by her that enticed her to break out of the cage she built around herself.

But next to beautiful Akira who wields multiple personas, who has half Tokyo wrapped around his finger without even trying, Ann feels _lacking_.

She shouldn’t, because she already has so much more than the average person, yet she can’t help feeling this way.

Maybe that is the reason why they hang on his every word. Because they know they can never be as diverse and wild, as _special_ as Akira or Joker, so they take the crumbs that fall on the floor, doing everything they can in order to not be forgotten, in order to have someone as important as him pay attention to people like her.

Because that’s all she’ll ever get if she doesn’t reach out, to try and take and get a _little more_ _of him for herself-_

A dark, but melodious laugh shatters Ann’s thoughts, the vastly familiar sound prickling her skin with icy tips.

She shakes her head, concentrates on being Panther again, the whip a familiar weight in her hand as Queen’s call of her name brings her back to the present.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _regarding the context: With the help of my fanfiction power, I hereby give Akechi an office in the Special Investigation Department! Nothing fancy and big like the typical CEO fanfics, but the small, worker-cubicles just enough to do his, well, work. I do envision his to be a bit more isolated than the rest though, because even Akechi's godlike patience would eventually come to an end after a long day with what he would consider as imbeciles as his cubicle neighbours. And god help them if they try to socialize with him._
> 
> _Once again it is implied here that Akechi, unlike it's hinted in canon, can actually wield more than just two personas. A kind person pointed out that Robin Hood does learn Samarecarm, and I've totally forgot to tell you here - Akechi deliberately didn't let RH learn it. Yeah, he's that kind of person (why would he even need it when he's been solo all his life?)_
> 
> _Since healing is something that doesn't fit his brutal, agressive nature, he's only able to pick the lowest of healing personas for himself and has to resort to cards teaching it the spells it would never learn by leveling up. At least I hope a Pixie can learn Samarecarm through cards LOL I never tried that. Doesn't matter too much if it's my universe though, no?_


	6. closer, i don't need you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not too satisfied with the **December 5th** of this chapter, especially since I erased the scenario for it over and over again. It varied from Yusuke reflecting on his relationship with Akira to a Phantom Thieves' trip to Mementos, but I somehow found it very hard for me to implant Yusuke's character properly into this story such as with Ann's POV, and the Mementos scene will probably be inserted somewhere else since I found the idea nice, but could not find a satisfactory way of writing it.
> 
> I still hope it's somewhat enjoyable to read, and I promise there are a lot of future chapters I'm actually proud of posting!

###  December 3rd, Saturday

Akechi is in a building center a few stations away from Shibuya, looking to replace the light bulbs in his kitchen and living room that all unanimously decided to give up on him at the exact same time just yesterday.

He played with the thought of buying completely new lamps just out of spite, but that's hardly cost efficient in comparison to his current option, and while Akechi could still afford it without much of a problem, he prefers the method of spending less resources and still achieving the same results.

That’s only on mundane things he _has_ to care about, though. Akechi doesn’t mind _overd_ _o_ _ing_ it at times, such as going for what other people would surely label as overkills in the Metaverse.

A vague memory of Akira’s exasperated expression when first witnessing Akechi’s cutting skills comes forth, and disappears just as fast as it came.

His phone suddenly vibrates, and Akechi, like always, already has a dreading suspicion who it is.

His barely-above-water mood drops to Mariana Trench depths the instant the name displayed on the screen confirms the repulsive feeling in his gut.

“Shido-san,” he greets him in a polite tone. Akechi throws in a sparkling smile, even if it's only for a row of different light bulbs to see.

For all the hatred brewing inside of him whenever he has to speak with the man, the mask he puts up for him is one of the most easiest to maintain.

“ _Akechi. Didn’t I tell you numerous times to not speak my name so casually like that?”_

“I’m in a secluded location with not many people around me," he curtly responds.

Shido should know that Akechi doesn’t take any risks. The building center is quite desolated anyway, the only other person in his vicinity being an old man inspecting several vacuum cleaners a few rows down further.

“ _It’s still best to act with caution,”_ Shido berates him in a condescending tone that once infuriated Akechi, but now only adds into the pile of annoyance steadily stacking up the longer he has to put with him. _“You never know who might listen in.”_

Light bulbs, maybe. With their evil schemes they’ll surely blackmail Shido into pursuing more eco-friendly formulas and designs by threatening they'd disfunction on purpose like the one in his apartment, cascading whole Japan into a chaos of a black, liveless ocean.

That, of course, only occurs if the Shido on the other end of the line happens to be _the_ top candidate for prime minister, and not some of the thousand other people in Japan sharing the same name.

Shido must have thought that Akechi took his reproach immediately to heart given by the silence stretching between them, because he continues in a smugger, more self-assuring tone than before.

_“Regardless, I wanted to call you in terms of your progress with the Phantom Thief member you managed to get hold of.”_

“In two to three days I should have captured their leader,” Akechi nonchalantly responds.

The lie slips easily past his lips, and irritation manifests in uncomfortable tingles in his fingertips when Shido chuckles, no doubt thinking it’s due to _him_ that Akechi shows success once more.

It impairs his current task of choosing between two different sets of light bulbs which most definitely only vary in packaging design, and Akechi grows even more annoyed.

He turns the phone away to let a forceful exhale loose, and clears his throat inconspicuously before he aligns the device with his cheek again.

“His comrade already broke, but it’s still risky letting him go just yet. I will sent him back to society once the whole matter calmed down.”

The smug satisfaction in Shido’s voice is something tangible even through a phone. Disgust coils within his stomach.

_"Excellent – I knew I made the right choice when I took you in.”_

Took away a normal future?

Yes, certainly. Akechi has parts of himself to blame for accepting in the first place though, but he takes the consequences that come with his decisions with a chin held high.

Deciding he’s fighting an unnecessarily and admittedly loosing battle regarding his purpose in the building center, Akechi clamps his phone beneath his ear and shoulder to grab the first packs that look convincing enough.

“I aim to please. The leader’s location is rather unstable, but I can secure him in the Metaverse and interrogate him there just fine, so that won’t be much of an issue.”

“ _Ah, perfect. When you’re done squeezing useful information out of him he might have, dispose of him. E_ _nsure he’s... permanently incapable of defying me, and make sure to do so at least a week before election day. That should give me the last boost in ratings I need.”_

As if he'd need one with how many people are already falling for his sickly _good_ façade.

Well, Akechi supposes he might be a bit of a hypocrite here.

“I will see to that.” Akechi makes sure to slip a pleasant, higher than usual tone in his voice, something he knows Shido will pick up as grateful despite the lack of actual words of gratitude.

Akechi is on his way to checkout when a row of tools catch his eyes. He stops in front of them, switching his phone to the other side.

“Is there anything else you wanted to talk about?”, he mumbles. “I apologize, but it appears I really do must get going.”

“ _Fine_ _,”_ Shido curtly responds, almost sounding like a bratty child that got denied its third helping of favorite dessert. Not that Akechi is actually that important. Shido doesn’t protest, though, and Akechi knows he won’t have to listen to the voice scrapping uncomfortably against the inside of his ears for much longer.

“ _Report to me when you’ve captured the leader.”_ A slight pause, words articulated more slowly. “ _There’s... a slight rebellion against my election stirring in the north.”_

“You want me to take care of that?”

“ _...No. It’s only one man carrying the voices of others, and in addition to that, its actual impact is ludicrously small. Not enough for you to do something against it.”_

Akechi rolls his eyes. If it’s that insignificant and harmless, then why mention it in the first place?

Maybe it’s Shido’s paranoia speaking. He’d kill a pup if it would even show signs of having a negative impact on his current campaign, no matter of what scale, but it could also be an actual, rising threat Shido just doesn’t want to acknowledge until it gets too big for him to ignore.

Probably a mixture of both, and Akechi will have to bear the consequences of it regardless.

Such a helpless man, delusional enough to think he possesses the reigns of power.

Akechi shakes his head, and grabs one of the objects on display, eyebrows furrowing when he imagines Akira with it. He also should be able to take him to Shido's palace soon.

“If you say so. Just call me if you do need to get rid of them.”

Please don’t.

Like always, Shido hangs up without saying anything else, and Akechi would lie if he says he doesn't prefer it this way.

Focusing back on his current object of interest, he takes it in his free hand after pocketing his phone.

It’d be way more sad if Shido would actually give enough shit about him to bother with something as sentimental as a goodbye.

###  December 4th, Sunday

“Eiha? Why do you want me to use Eiha when I could use Maeiha, even Maeiga?”

Akechi resists the urge to roll his eyes. “Have you already forgotten what I told you?”

Akira's red, gloved hand comes up to scratch his neck. “Do you mean it applies to spells and personas as well?”

“Yes,” Akechi says in a tone that implies _of fucking course it does; isn't it obvious?_

Akira has made enough progress regarding hand-to-hand combat that Akechi has to use about half of his full speed and power each time they spar, and it’s enough for Akechi to advance to persona training as well.

Or rather, honing the spells itself instead of concentrating on the individuality of a persona.

Akira had looked pleased when Akechi revealed they’d _not_ be practicing hand-to-hand or weapon combat for once, but he visibly falters when he hears what Akechi wants him to do.

Still, Akira doesn’t look anything less than determined despite his exhaustion, evident in the slight slouch of his posture to the daily training regimens. Akira's stamina is steadily increasing though, and he's recovering spent energy faster each time he empties his reserves.

Walking over to the practice dummy Akechi let his cognition form (this time with emphasis on spell resistance), Akechi leans sideways against the simple, wooden structure with crossed arms.

Akira remains at his spot, watching with wary, but open eyes.

The smile Akechi adorns probably shows more teeth than it should. “You’ve already felt the effects of repeating a simple kick for hundred, thousand of times.”

It’s more of a statement than a question, and Akira nods, looking less unsure as he steps closer towards Akechi and the dummy, but still maintaining a respectable distance between them.

His kicks and punches had barely fazed Akechi at first, but over their last sessions, Akechi could finally feel a dull throb in the places he blocks Akira’s attacks.

He’s finally started to _feel_ the compromise of blocking and averting an otherwise heavy attack, and Akechi revels in the first hints of pain starting to bloom beneath his skin.

It sounds like a vast accomplishment, but Akechi would consider himself nothing less than _monstrous._

Where Akechi still deflects and parries with ease (albeit having to put more effort in his defense than before), any lesser being would have crumbled after only a few seconds under the new force of attacks Akira has begun to show.

“It’s all about repeating the basics,“ Akechi repeats one of the first things he said to Akira after having assessed his strength. “You practice those movements until they exceed mere habit and muscle memory. They must become one with your body and soul, a mechanism that comes as natural as breathing.”

He caresses the dummy almost lovingly, offering a coy smirk into Akira’s direction. “A man who’s practiced the motion of just one punch for the entirety of his life will _destroy_ a man who’s learned all sorts of martial arts and weaponry, but never focused on one.”

Akechi gestures to the dummy with his head. “The same goes for the spells. Did you never ask yourself why you could only use Eiha in the beginning, slowly working yourself up the list of curse spells?”

“They’re based on each-other as well,” Akira mumbles, eyes getting a calculative look. “Without Eiha, there would not be Eiga. Without Maeiha, there would not be Maeiga, and so on.”

Satisfied that Akira finally seems to be getting something that in theory he already knows, Akechi nods at him. “And what do you get when you practice only Eiha hundred, thousand of times?”

“An Eiha that would be as strong as an Eiga. Possibly even stronger.”

Akechi smirks. “Stronger indeed, Akira. And when you master Eiha, it automatically applies to every other curse spells in its evolution line, simply because it’s the foundation of it.”

“So if I were to master Eiha, the Eigaon I’d learn would be...”

“...positively destructive,” Akechi finishes for him, letting his smirk grow into a grin.

It becomes even bigger when he sees Akira’s own mouth mirroring the gesture, albeit more reluctant, aware of what exactly he is getting excited over, yet not able to suppress it.

“Care to remember that the same concept applies to not only Eiga and Eigaon, but to every other spell as well. And... you know just how many there are.”

By the way Akira pales even more, he must be running the math in his head. Akechi shows a jaunty smirk.

“Don’t worry. We’ll be focusing on Arsene’s pool of attacks first before we branch out.”

“Because expanding on too many elements at the same time would result in exactly that what we want to avoid?”

Akechi wonders if Akira noticed his use of first person plural, but gives a slight dip of his head, choosing not to comment on it.

"Correct.”

With a more dismissively tone not directed at the black haired male, Akechi adds, “It seems like not all of your brain has been completely infested with false calls of justice. Color me surprised.”

Blue flames whirl around when Akira’s trademark mask encases the upper half of his face, and Akechi pushes himself off the dummy, watching as Akira gets into his battle stance.

“Here, the only limits existing are the ones you place on yourself,” Akechi reminds him, further retreating into his usual, preferred corner whenever he lets Akira practice by himself.

“Eiha may give you the impression of not being able to become stronger once you learn it, but it merely requires enough practice and repetition to not evolve, but to _become_ something much greater than the expectations coming along with the name would usually imply. I suppose most would see it as a futile task, not worth their effort if you can simply cast an Eigaon instead of an Eiha.”

“But you don’t,” Akira replies, voice firm. “And if you managed to get so strong by practicing that way, then I will do so as well.”

Akechi tries not to show how much those casually uttered words actually affect him, putting a hand over his face to hide an increasingly dark grin.

Luckily, Akira’s back is turned to him anyway, and within the next second, Akira’s mask off, Arsene looming over him and spreading his majestic wings, ready to do as his master wants.

And Akira watches Akira, sees his form becoming sweating, debauched as exhaustion adamantly forces his posture grow slack, but Akira is relentless, keeps on casting Eiha over and over again like a mantra, but bellowing the words out consciously each time, not loosing himself in the repetitiveness.

He doesn’t seem to be aware of it, but there’s a small smile gracing his lips, tongue darting out repeatedly to wipe up the sweat that looses its trail in the pink dip. 

Akira's face gets basked in the shining reflection of red and black, becoming slightly brighter and striking with each spell cast.

The dummy is still standing by the time Akira reaches his absolute limit, collapsing on the floor, coat weakly flickering once to reveal what he’s been wearing outside of the Metaverse, before Akira gets a grip on himself and his clothes manage to stay in his usual black and red attire.

Akechi knows it’s only a question of time until the Kougaon-infused construction would burst with a mere Eiha.

###  December 5th, Monday

Leaning against the railing, Akira lets out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding.

There’s a grand lobby of sorts fanning out beneath him, sparkling fountain in the middle surrounded by various desks and their respective stools, all curled into elegant forms.

There are long, banquet-like tables pushed to the walls, only occasionally interrupted by doors, hallways and stairs, and pristine, white clothing is draped over them.

He wonders if Shadow Akechi holds regular mask balls here, because it certainly does look like a place suited for such occasions, countless of chandeliers sparkling with gold and white colors.

There is a manageable number of paintings adorning the upper part of the walls, but the small quantity doesn’t matter when the scenes displayed are breathtaking enough to fill more space than its size would usually do. 

Akira knows Yusuke would surely spent hours admiring each on of them, from the heroic scenery of a war hero besting his opponent without shedding blood, yet still maintaining a sense of cruel, bitter reality in the way he looks into the viewer's eyes, to the enigmatic imagery of a small, shadowy figure sitting menacingly on a throne in midst a sea of black.

Adverting his gaze from the hypnotic pull of the paintings, Akira supports his elbows on the railing, leaning forward to watch the occasional shadow pass through, some stopping to look up at him, sensing his piercing gaze.

They never stop for more than a few seconds, probably somehow aware that Akechi recently allowed him to stray a little further away than just the kitchen and dancing room on his own.

They’re all majestic creatures, Akira realizes.

He had never paid much attention to what kind of monsters he’d been exactly fighting when raiding Akechi’s palace for the first time, wrapped up in a bubble of self-induced anxiety and foreboding, too focused on the fact that his attacks didn’t (still don’t) do anything against the beings wandering the theater’s various places, and too caught up in watching his own members do what _he_ usually does.

Akira knows appearances don’t give inner strength or actual personality away - looks can be deceiving. There have been plenty of personas for him to use whose appearance were anything other than pleasant to the eye, but who did a fairly good job in combat or supporting spells.

Vice versa, there were many shadows who looked dashing and mysterious, combining a visual of strength and elegance that’d make Yusuke swoon, and they turned out to be far more useless in comparison to other shadow’s performances.

But Akira can’ find a single shadow in here that is not aesthetically pleasing to the eye.

Even _objectively_ you’d consider the lithe, sleek form of the silver wyvern currently lapping up some water with a forked tongue morbidly beautiful, or what looked like a female grim reaper coyly winking at him when she acknowledged his presence, looking possibly ethereal in the white, flimsy garments that adorn her fragile body, a stark contrast to the giant, nearly translucent scythe behind her back which is constantly dripping a black fluid onto the floor.

He follows the path of the liquid, sees it disappearing into a small crack on the carpet that shines blue, and Akira's stomach contracts. He averts his gaze, inwardly shaking his head.

Each of the shadows here have their own, aesthetic appeal to them each and everyone could see, not the half-hearted kind of admittance out of sympathy that yes, there certainly might be a _special_ kind of appeal to the form of a giant, green dick strapped onto a wagon.

Maybe it’s shallow, for Akechi’s shadows to always have a beautiful appearance while still being stronger than anything he knows. Akechi is not letting a single, unsightly creature taint the grounds of his theater, meticulous about maintaining an image for his guests and enemies alike.

It certainly fits him, Akira thinks.

When he pushes himself off the railing, he watches how the fabric of his arms take some of the white paint away, leaving an ominous blue to pulse where dark wood should have shone through.

Akira grits his teeth as he lets his eyes focus onto another, random location.

The war of arguments in his head had only become more noisy in the past days.

The worst thing is probably that they start to loose their sense. Akira can’t properly pick apart what’s right and what’s wrong anymore, finding it difficult to _not_ view them in different perspectives.

And different perspectives lead to all kinds of different realizations, therefor regularly rebutting each-other. Akira finds flaws and strengths in each one of them, and the longer he finds himself gripping to a coherent line of thoughts, the blurrier it merges with others.

It’s not necessarily a loosing battle he’s fighting inside of his head, but it’s certainly an increasingly tiring and exhausting one, a constant cycle of creation and destruction that leads him to absolutely nowhere.

Had Akira already let Akechi get so much into his had that he considers Akechi’s position and convictions equal to that of his trusted Phantom Thieves?

It adds to the growing number of headaches coming along his way whenever Akira thinks too much, so he tries shoving those thoughts aside, concentrating on matters that are more clear and direct to him, such as the recent development: Akechi training him.

Ah, he still has one hell of a muscle ache from yesterday.

Akira always had the imagination Akechi wouldn't anyone work with him if he doesn't have to, much less instructing someone from what feels like scratch.

Not that Akira is a beginner in terms of combat experience, but Akechi sure does make him feel like one more often than not.

Sae is an exception since he was assigned as her assistant (Akechi does not speak too ill of her, but whenever he does mention her, his tone becomes a distant kind of neutral), and he had always been more reluctant than the Phantom Thieves when following his orders, even if by only a bare noticeable amount.

Akira had written it off as him not being used to fighting with such a large number of people according to letting another person call the shots, but back then he hadn’t realized what lengths that statement actually applied to.

The detective must have spent years wandering around the Metaverse alone, being his own leader.

To suddenly have someone else to care for (at least to keep up cover), to realize you’re in some way responsible for another person – it was not only an entirely new experience, but one so far from his usual habit of doing everything alone that even perfect Akechi couldn’t suppress the smallest moments of hesitation when following Akira’s commands or aiding someone when they needed help and no other person was available.

Akira remembers how Akechi had mentioned someone wanting to assign an assistant to him, and how much he had loathed going through said files.

The mere aspect of working with someone else out of his own free will seems like a far-fetched imagination when applied to Akechi, so it’s a surprise to Akira that he’d apparently took it upon himself to polish his battle skills by several notches, just to see him... flourish, or something.

_But is it really a surprise?,_ a traitorous, familiar voice in Akira’s head suddenly says. _I’ve told you countless of times how incomparable you are to other persons. How **special** you are, Akira. There's no one else I 'd offer myself to._

Clenching his fist, Akira takes a minute to simply focus on his breathing, Even when he’s away, Akechi still manages to find a way inside of his head, a proof that whatever Akechi is planning on doing with him in the future shows signs of working.

When Akira feels like the imaginary voice won’t pull another frighteningly real detective on him, Akira begins to backtrack his steps, not wanting to stare at the irregularities in the hall any longer.

He’s kind of hungry, and although he doesn’t know what time it is, he could surely whip up a nice dish considering the amount of food Akechi brought just yesterday.

One thing he knows for sure is that he’s still mad at Akechi for winning in such an over-the-top way. Akechi had wanted to test him, that much was clear from the beginning.

But there was absolutely no need to pull such a dramatic stunt that is _so_ like him that it hurts Akira’s head with how much it aligns with his personality.

He’s brutal and harsh in training, unforgiving when Akira slips up and makes a mistake, no matter how tiny it is.

“ _Your enemy won’t hold out a hand for you to take when you slip, simply for the sake of honor. If you make an error and someone is potent enough to realize that, they’ll abuse it.”_

“ _Well, how do I prevent that?”_

“ _It’s simple_. **D** **on’t** _make errors.”_

Every time they fight one on one, Akira can’t help but get enthralled by what Akechi had never shown in any of the fights during Sae’s casino.

No matter how wrong it feels, how the circumstances form the strings of a different kind of attachment - if there is one thing Akira always respected, it’s earned, tremendous power.

A tireless pursuit for breaching the limits of his own self, no matter how much it hurt.

Akira has endless respect for those who manage to cross that astronomically high threshold.

In his weaker moments, Akira dreams of being free sometimes. No Phantom Thieves by his side, just him, Joker, running around in the Metaverse _alone_ , but power enveloping him so familiarly, so warmly that it feels like he could do everything.

Rising above everyone else, possessing the ability to not care for once. Not needing to look back or watch out, simply being himself, only actor and only witness at the same time.

But then Akira realizes how selfish those dreams are, how _weak_ he is, and he quickly shatters them, scatters the shards and hopes no one finds them each time it happens.

Apparently, one person did manage to pick up the traces, and it's cruel fate that it had to be Akechi.

Then again, who else would?

And instead of discarding them like he should, Akechi presses more into them, lets the shards cut into his skin with a smile so sensuous and beautiful, until Akira wants to reach out to cup blooming hands with his own.

To press down or unclench, he doesn't know.

Akira watches Akechi freely embracing what he’s guilty of dreaming sometimes, and he won't deny that he feels envious; that he feels guilty each time Akechi indirectly calls him out on it because like always, Akechi is _right._

A pure storm of power and death and frightening self-control despite the madness that sometimes shines through, Akechi makes it seem like the goal is the only thing that matters, uncaring of how destructive the means are.

Akira hates how he envisions himself to be like that sometimes, and gruesomely pulls himself out of his selfish hole of self-pity and feeling sorry for his own weakness.

He shouldn't wish, much less think of those things when he has a café with friends waiting for him to come back, ready to embrace Akira and chase lingering doubts away that crawl with uncomfortable persistency beneath his eyelids.

~~_Would they?_ ~~

Akira asks himself what kind of hell Akechi had to go through to reach his current level.

He blinks, and realizes he’s already in the kitchen, nearly having walked into the isle that would have left an uncomfortable bruise on his hip.

Akira rummages through various cupboards before he remembers that he doesn’t have an apron here unlike in LeBlanc, and parts of his heart clench bitterly when images of a warm, lively atmosphere invade his mind.

Guilt about succumbing in fleeting images makes everything worse, but Akira revels in it.

It’s a welcoming, _clear_ distraction in contrast to the mushy, indecisive feelings stirring inside of him most of the time.

“Looking for this?”

Akira is convinced he nearly split his head on the ceiling with how high he jumped at the sounds of Akechi’s voice, and he whips around to see him standing in a simple dress-shirt in the doorframe, tie already loosened and not bothering to hide the mirth dancing in his eyes.

There’s a familiar shape dangling from his still gloved hands, and Akira’s eyebrows draw together once his heart calms down from the spontaneous freefall it just got.

He hadn’t realized he’d been so caught up in his thoughts that he didn’t feel Akechi entering up until he announced his arrival himself, so he tries blocking the distracting thoughts, focuses on the here and now.

The apron is obviously not the same as the one he wears in LeBlanc since it’s of a simple, black color, but his fingers twitch with the urge to grab it anyway.

He _always_ wears an apron, and Akira hates how regularly he has to renew his Metaverse outfit with how much he sometimes manages to get onto his clothes, not matter how expertly he wields the ingredients.

Akira also simply likes the feeling of one around his torso whenever he works, but he doesn’t want to feel more dependent on Akechi than he already does by accepting a simple piece of clothing.

The dangling apron lowers a little when Akechi sends him an increasingly annoyed stare.

“Just put it on. Don’t interpret too much into it – I’ve bought it spontaneously, so there is no ulterior motive behind it.”

Akira doesn’t trust him – he knows that Akechi _always_ thinks everything through, calculating the impact of the simplest gestures.

There has to be a reason he brought him an apron only now and not in the beginning, but it’s such a banal manner that Akira doesn’t want to break his head over this. At least not now.

Well, he’s probably really reading a bit too much into an apron. He reaches his hand out, and Akechi steps closer, letting Akira take it.

“You could simply take off your thief attire,” Akechi comments as Akira casually wraps it around his gray vest and coat.

Out of his peripheral vision, he sees Akechi’s fingers twitch once before they rest on his hip as soon as Akira ties the knot around his back himself.

“Some other time,” Akira responds, deciding that an apron would make him feel illogically indebted enough for the moment.

He’s depending on Akechi more than enough with how much he has to rely on him for food, entertainment and recently even training (although Akechi insists on that himself – yet the rapidly improving results Akira feels despite the painstakingly hard procedure still account towards an overall feeling of gratitude) – there’s absolutely no reason for him to feel that way, seeing as Akechi had been the one to create those exact circumstances around Akira.

Yet Akira still can’t help but feeling like he’ll have to give _something_ back, show some form of appreciation that Akechi is _generous_ enough to not let him starve and rot in a tiny cell.

Adjusting his gloves, Akechi takes a few steps back to lean against the wall. He tilts his head as his eyes rake over Akira's form, and Akira fights the blush threatening to invade his face.

“You look ridiculous in this.”

Now he’s definitely blushing out of embarrassment and anger.

Akira would like to retort with a petty _you don’t look any better_ , but that statement is about as wrong as saying Yusuke dislikes lobsters.

God, why is he thinking so much of Yusuke today?

Exhaustion of work clings to Akechi in subtle ways, only visible in how his eyes drop a fraction more than they usually do when they’re alone, and how Akechi moves a tad too slow whenever he shifts around.

But he still manages to look like he just stepped out of a magazine cover, and Akira is pretty sure the detective has no right to look this good after a long day of work, especially in such a casual, plain get-up.

As if reading his thoughts, Akechi’s left hand comes up to loosen his tie just a little more, flashing a teasing expanse of throat in the progress, and Akira swallows dryly before deciding that turning away to start on what he originally came here for is a much better idea than fawning over your rival slash kidnapper.

Seems like dinner is in order if Akechi is already back.

“What are you making?”, his (second) personal demon casually asks, and despite the neutral tone of his voice, Akira can feel the smirk curling on the other’s lips, always getting a personal kick out of unnerving Akira in every, little way.

“I don’t know,” Akira truthfully answers as he rummages through the mess inside of the fridge.

Akechi should really start organizing things properly instead of just throwing everything in that looks like it needs a cool.

Akira shrugs. “I’ll find out.” And, before he can stop himself, “Do you have any wishes?”

Deliberately not looking into Akechi’s direction to not lose his cool more than he already does, he hears the faint rustling of clothes as Akechi comes close enough to now stand by the kitchen isle.

He convinces himself he asked the question as a show of thanks for Akechi bringing him an apron, not because the question almost naturally slipped past his mouth because Akira's usual, very effective word-filter tends to malfunction whenever the other is around.

“A lot,” Akechi drawls in a heavy, dark tone, and Akira gulps, immobile on his spot.

He's afraid that Akechi decoded his poorly worded message on purpose to put Akira in the awkward, weak spot where Akechi could verbally (maybe even phyisically?) take him apart _again_ , but the detective shifts, and the atmosphere grows lighter, less oppressing.

“But I’ve been rather curious about dumplings," Akechi asks, almost gentle. But only almost. "Are those in your range of _expertise?”_

“Depends if you’ve bought the ingredients for it,” Akira slowly says, feeling like it’s safe to draw a breath again.

He closes the fridge to face the other, raking his mind through the random recipe books he used to binge when he first started getting used to cooking. “If you didn’t buy pre-prepared dough, we’ll have to make it from scratch.”

“Either way is fine,” Akechi immediately responds, barely letting him finish his sentence. “Flour is among the earliest things I’ve bought, and I brought plenty of seasonings and ingredients yesterday.”

“...Did you anticipate I’d be making them?”

“I would have asked,” Akechi says with a tilt of his head, and Akira is surprised, not having thought the other would admit it so easily.

The corner of Akechi's mouth lift a bit.

It’s a relaxed smile, not needing much effort to maintain it, and it stays while Akira recalls the conversation about how little Akechi cares for food, trying out new trends simply for the sake of having a conversation topic.

“But I’m… delighted you did so first.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _regarding the context: you can maybe tell I'm trying to explore the spell-system in Persona! Not to say I'll create an entirely new one or alter it significantly. Rather than doing that, I'm trying to explore what little the game tells us, go more in-depth and try to explain why the mechanics are the way there are, and further add what would come as logical conclusions to me._
> 
> _Also, I'm blueballing myself a bit here. The first smut is **slowly** approaching - nothing too explicit (hopefully lol), but definitely a taste of things to come (hint hint: chapter 8 :3)_
> 
> Thank you for all the kudos, bookmarks and subscriptions so far! Especially the comments help me mentally out, so a big cookie and bubble tea for everyone out there who take their time to write one. Next chapter will be a bit bigger than usual, but not another 13k monster.


	7. creepin' dark night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even though I read chapters like ten times before posting since I don't have a beta reader, some weird stuff keeps on managing to slip past my radar.
> 
> I find those mistakes a few hours later, and I always feel _horrible_ when I imagine some people had to read through it before I could filter them out. I'm very sorry for that, but it **always** happens to me, even in important stuff like term papers for my courses HAHA.
> 
> English isn't my first language either! That's not much of an excuse though, and I will still try my best to create an adequate reading experience.
> 
> I will also have a brief summary on stand-by for each and every chapter from now on in case someone got caught up or confused by my writing or missed something or wanted to skip a certain scene because triggers :) Or simply wants an explanation as to what happened. I thought about adding it in the notes, but mine are already so monstrously long...
> 
> Also, remember how I said this was not going to be another 13k? This chapter's length looks suspiciously close to it... I read it over a lot of times and I'm super tired, but I still want to get it out today. I'll correct if once I slept over it, so sorry if you find odd wordings and mistakes!

###  December 6th, Tuesday

"Boss, could you turn the volume up just a little? Thanks."

"...."

"...."

"...."

“... _And now we return to continue our report. This morning the police have announced that they’ve obtained a suspect who may in fact be the leader of the Phantom Thieves group.”_

“Oh, they caught them already?”

“ _What a surprise to find out behind all this is just a minor! But considering how quickly they announced his arrest, the police must surely be confident in the outcome of this case….”_

“God, a minor? What was he thinking, submitting to a life of crime like that?”

“ _Also, the young man continues to remain silent, refusing to implicate any potential accomplice. However, considering the number of charges brought against him…”_

“Huh, interesting.”

“ _...It seems the Phantom Thieves most recent targets have gone comatose. Actual harm has been done here. Given the lack of physical violence, their method is still a mystery. Regardless, the police are looking into attempted murder chargers.”_

“Oh yeah, their recent targets surely were different. Justice my ass! The first cases was just a distraction, a way for them to gain support for their ulterior motives. I mean, only yesterday it was reported that they got the SIU Director! He was found bleeding in his office, unconscious and now comatose. For very obvious reasons, if you ask me! He’s one of the authorities in charge of finding the Phantom Thieves' identities out...”

“ _...We also received information that the young man was placed under probation for assault. Because of his previous record he had to leave his hometown. Perhaps his motive lies there.”_

“Assault? Hah. Once a criminal, always a criminal. And at such an age too. Shido is right – we really do need competent characters like him steering the country, especially in times like these. I should really vo-”

“ _We have breaking news!”_

“…?!”

“ _...The young man being held in custody has committed suicide. The police have confirmed his death. Overall details have not been released. To repeat: the suspect has committed suicide while in custody! This station will continue to report any-”_

“….Boss? I was watching that!”

Sojiro puts the remote down, sheepishly rubbing his head. “S-sorry. It's just, they've been on TV all day long, and... this old man don't got much patience for the same thing and all.”

The regular’s sour face changes into a softer one, and he nods in understanding. “Oh yeah, I guess I can understand that. Phantom Thieves here, Phantom Thieves there. People nowadays talk about nothing else, but... guess that'll finally come to an end soon, huh?”

“...Yeah,” Sojiro reluctantly grumbles, hides his shaking hands behind the counter.

The conversation ends there, the patron now glued to his phone, probably to resume watching or share the news of the broadcast. 

The kids told Sojiro that they already expected something along the lines of a statement being released sooner or later about the capture of their leader for Akechi to gain more room to move in, but the suicide right after the announcement throws Sojiro off.

That definitely wasn't something anyone discussed or suspected.

Akira can’t actually be dead, right? Sojiro had never gotten the complete picture with all the supernatural terms flying around, but the kids assured him Akira was too important for Akechi to simply kill of so suddenly.

Hell, even Sae is involved and keeping tabs on the detective now, someone he didn’t think had the capability of aiding a case that serves a purpose beyond her own motivations.

The _what ifs_ continue to run through his head, and no matter how much Sojiro tries to concentrate, he is unable to focus on simple tasks that are usually mere muscle memory.

He throws a half-dirty plate with more force than necessary back into the water, and needs three more attempts to unlock his phone because his fingers won't stop twitching every few seconds.

Sojiro barely registers the regular finally leaving as he waits for Futaba to pick up.

“Still hope you have a nice evening, Boss.”

* * *

Makoto is freezing.

The jacket she grabbed out of hurry is thin and does not do anything to protect her from the growing coldness December brings, but she refuses to turn around when she's already stepped outside.

Her fingers are numb within minutes, the rush of blood in her ears as loud as the bustling train station around her. But grim furry keeps her grounded, feet planted onto the hard tiles of the floor with a greater purpose.

Makoto doesn't watch TV while dinner when her sister is working late again, and her phone had been turned off, charging in her room. That's why she nearly dropped it in shook when she checked it an hour later.

Completely unassuming had she unlocked the screen, just to see the explosion of notifications that had occurred in the Phantom group chat in her absence.

After watching a minute of the news feed Futaba had linked to catch up on what she missed, the first thing Makoto did was grabbing keys, shoes and a jacket, heading out without so much as a second thought, destination the only thing that is clear in her mind that had been in disarray the moment Makoto's brain registered the context of the report.

What she heard, what the news stations reported - this is what she envisioned playing out if they stuck to their plan and never invaded Akechi's palace; if they were successful in involving the cognitive world and making Akechi think the fake he killed was real. 

Their original plan certainly had been a gamble, but it was the only one they were able to come up with, fooling the detective and public alike, and even Akira, key player to it, had agreed without much protest.

Hearing the recap play, various voices stating in a disgustingly nonchalant tone that Akira had committed suicide when all of them knew he was _not_ being kept in that special cell where Sae would have most likely interrogated him if they didn't change their plan to changing Akechi's heart first - it only fed Makoto's determination to see Akechi fall from that high throne he thinks he is on, because all he does is keep messing up their careful plans.

She doesn't really focus on the people around her, entering the train on autopilot. 

Makoto doesn’t know if she’ll catch him.

Hell, she doesn't even know where Akechi _is._ He could be in the Metaverse, he could be in the supermarket or still at work for all she cared, he could already be sleeping soundly in his apartment, somewhere even Makoto doesn't want to come close more than necessary when she already has to go in its vicinity to access his palace. 

Akechi could be anywhere on the world, and not on his way home at exactly 9PM.

There’s no guarantee for Akechi to walk past the ally she has in mind; only a comically slim chance Makoto will manage to get a hold of him.

But on the train she the watches the names change on the digital sign displayed above her anyway, grip on the steel bars so tight that her fingers are numb again once she remembers that she has to unclench them to leave at Kichijoji.

Makoto walks, and then waits, blends in with the shadows, not daring for more, yet still clinging to the desperation that urged her feet out of the safety of her home.

Cruel fate extends a generous hand to her by making an all too familiar figure enter her field of vision.

She tries to keep the torrent of emotions at bay, and calmly walks out of the darkness previously shielding her from the world's view.

“Akechi,” she begins, the name almost foreign on her tongue.

The feelings of betrayal, irritation, simple _anger_ emerge despite her efforts at suppressing them when Makoto finally comes face to face with him.

It ignites a simmering fire that clashes with the cold that is trying to make her teeth clatter and limbs shake. 

Akechi is in his usual peacoat, a bag of what she assumes to be groceries in one hand. He looks so normal, so unassuming that Makoto briefly has to recall everything that lead up to this moment to remind herself that this _innocent_ person is the one she swore to take down.

Makoto had tried to sympathize, to understand, but now-

“Nijima,” Akechi greets her back in a polite tone, voice light and airy as if a fresh wave of happiness just washed tired exhaustion of daily live away upon seeing her face.

“I didn’t expect you here,” he continues, finally stopping his perfectly measured steps right under the circle of light a lone street lamp provides.

The slightest quirk of an eyebrow, the challenging, gloating glint barely hidden in approachable eyes tell her otherwise.

She grits her teeth, remembering how he called her in the same manner after he did those unspeakable things to Akira.

“What happened to _Makoto_?”

“Oh, that?” Akechi makes a dismissive gesture. “I’ve always disliked how the name rolls over my tongue.”

His crude sentence is accompanied by an expression similar to that of a child tasting its favorite candy.

She really wants to punch that stupid smile off his face, but she reminds herself that this is not the Metaverse where evidence plays a minor role, and that she can't solve everything by force when her emotions clog up too much.

Makoto knows she has a bad temper when it's repeatedly tested (Akechi really brings the worst out of her), but she vehemently tried to control it over the last months.

Her not immediately charging at him and demanding an answer to all her questions and fears is a product of that. 

Forcefully inhaling and exhaling a few times until the mere act doesn’t feel like it bursts her inside open, she crosses her arms over her chest, both as a sign of disapproval, and as a feeble attempt to keep herself warm.

“You didn’t actually kill him, did you?”, she asks, confidently. 

Akechi raises an eyebrow. “What makes you think I did?"

“There’s no way Akira would commit suicide.”

“I assume you watched the news, then?”

“Don’t you dare play dumb,” she hisses, growing more irritated by the second.

Makoto can’t keep the clattering of her teeth much longer at bay, but she refuses to show any weakness in front of him. “Tell me what you want.”

“Straight to the point, as always.” Akechi shifts his weight from one leg to another, and the plastered smile on his face shrinks into something more sinister. “It’s one of the few qualities that made you somewhat tolerable.”

“Quit avoiding the topic!”

Of course Akechi does exactly that.

“Are you cold, Nijima?”, he inquires in a way that shouldn't sound smug with how much false concern drips of it.

More irritation prickles at her skin. Makoto glares at him, but curses her own thoughtlessness at the same time when she can't suppress another, big shudder running through her body. 

Akechi somehow manages to make her feel like the reason for her state is more her fault than his (Makoto was the one to storm out of the house without a thought, sure, but she wouldn't have done that in the first place if Akechi wouldn't be the variable that derailed all of their plans), and he visibly revels in it.

Having a conversational leverage simply by wearing warmer, suitable clothes shouldn't be possible, yet Akechi is still able to utilize it in such a way.

Makoto doesn’t want to deny his statement-worded-question, but she doesn’t want to confirm out of pride, so she keeps silent, adamant on squeezing some sort of answer, any indication why he's still going through all of this if she just glares long and hard enough.

Her lack of response doesn’t seem to disconcert him in the slightest, and Akechi waits until an elderly woman is finished walking by to cock his head, eyes wide and innocent. "To get back to your question: apparently you paid less attention than I thought. I'm almost... disappointed. To make it clear once again: I already have what I want, so you're wasting your time with useless conversations like these."

Makoto had heard his sick declares of love for Akira, even if he hadn't out-rightly stated them. 

But she can also clearly remember ominous talks over the phone, displaying course of actions involving a silencer and a bullet that made the Phantom Thieves devise a special, risky plan in the first place.

Even now, hearing Akechi mutter about Akira as if he's some kind of object to claim, Makoto still can't believe he'd go against his own words. Is Akechi really so deeply invested in their leader that he follows no one's but his own ideology?

Then again, aren't his actions up until now exact proof of that?

Akechi's next sentence is accompanied by a coy smile that throws more fuel into the fire, but also serves to stir a deeper, more uncomfortable part that have Makoto's feet shuffle momentarily.

“I see. The suicide isn't your actual concern, is it?”

An entirely different cold hits her like a wave crashing into her side.

Did he- did he figure her out? No, is she that easy to read? Her chest painfully contracts.

Since _when-?_

Giving into him is not on her agenda today, but Makoto figures denying what he's already spoken would be more of a show of cowardice and denial. Still, she doesn't need to play more into his hands than she's already doing. 

“I... don’t have the same bond with the Phantom Thieves as everybody else seems to share,” Makoto says, slowly.

Admitting it wouldn’t hurt. She joined them for one reason, and that exact reason got put to ice due to a certain someone. She needs Akechi _gone_ for her efforts to bear fruit.

Makoto hadn't been able to think clearly when she saw the news, witnessed the future she hoped to craft spiraling out of control if she doesn't interfere. Not that she has much power and influence right now, given that she can still feel the gap in power even outside the Metaverse, but she'd rather let a random shadow tear her apart than just standing around and doing nothing. 

It's better than sitting around, being a burden yet again. 

She hates how weak she feels when Akira isn’t there, how the others look at her with understanding and encouraging eyes whenever they travel the Metaverse, yet not hiding the fact that they want their original leader back. 

Makoto hates how much his absence makes it evident that she needs him, that she's so useless on her own, but so much infuriatingly stronger with him.

Being prone to inferiority is something Makoto thought she left behind when she awakened Johanna, but it clearly seems to be deeper embedded than she thought. 

But Makoto can still... relate, and most of all she can understand why they want to fight for Akira and get him back, because in the end, she is no different than the rest - they need their leader back at all cost.

Of course, that doesn’t mean that she's just _using_ him and the Phantom Thieves.

Makoto had formed bonds that felt more real than anything else in her life, a hope to cling to when Sae looks particularly exhausted, behaving like the mere act of looking at her younger sister would require a strenuous amount of energy too big to bring up.

Her bonds may not be as deep as the others – but they are still there, and Makoto wants to preserve them just as much as she wants to save her sister.

She tells Akechi exactly that in more vague terms.

When she finishes, all he does is his short trademark-giggle that ascends into high nothingness. Delight dances in his eyes, but Makoto knows it’s him amusing herself at her expanse.

Still. Makoto feels like she needed to justify herself, or else Akechi would poke to deep if left unsated.

She realized that she's already playing with disadvantageous cards here, so Makoto needs to make sure that this weird game of cat and mouse between them doesn't spiral beyond her control.

When his laugh ends, anything that could even hint at emotion is completely wiped from his face, like a light switched off.

There’s several feet of space between them, Makoto barely out of the ally she had hidden herself in, but that room suddenly feels nonexistent.

Akechi is filling the entirety of the ally with his presence, looming and _dark_ even though he stands in a pillar of light (does he repel or devour it?), making the air seem chillier around them than it actually is.

Makoto gulps, and the shivering of her teeth extends to her arms, fingers trembling and having lost the ability to clench more than a few millimeters.

“He’s surrounded himself with egoistic trash,” Akechi mumbles in an eerily sterile voice, just loud enough for her to hear, but giving her the impression that he had uttered it to himself. The lack of tangible emotion, of _anything_ in his voice freezes her blood.

His eyes are lifeless, for the lack of a better word, only the barest flicker of what Makoto could describe as repulsiveness preventing them from being as dead as the rest of his expression. 

“Here his friend comes, not worried for him, but for her beloved _sister_. If you won't ask for Akira, maybe poor Sakamoto would have been a better alternative?”

The only indicator that Akechi is feeling _something_ is probably how his glove stretches just a bit more around the handle of his bag. It's a miniscule action Makoto would have never caught in another time, but his unfathomable proximity despite their distance makes her hyperaware of every, little movement originating from his side. 

From the slightest re-distribution of weight, up to the slow lowering and raising of eyelids; movements even Akechi can't suppress. 

Maybe it's just a testament to how _much_ he's trying to hold in; that even his overwhelming self-control fails.

Before Makoto can hope to respond, Akechi speaks up again.

“Akira will... listen to what I say, happy to hold a proof against me, but I'll make sure to tell him of your _other_ concerns as well."

His mouth twitches once as if to remind her that it could also smile cruelly instead of being pressed into a thin line. "He'll falter, much more than he would have at the beginning. Ah, yes, I do believe we've made enough progress for that... no news of the outside world, his foolish hope the only emotion he clings to. Your action will cultivate it, but it'll also _stain_ it even more."

_Rip it open, wonderfully gaping, all mine to take apart-_

His eyes are staring right through her soul, and the rush of confidence she felt earlier, fueled by anger and other emotions Makoto didn't concern herself to distinguish continues to leave her at an alarming pace.

Why had she come in the first place? What had she hoped to hear from Akechi when she managed to get a hold of him?

Makoto knows she's aware of the answer, but can't get herself to grasp for it, too much going on at the same time.

She hadn’t thought anything through, let her emotional side get the better of her – she claimed she'd gotten better at having control of her temper, and yet here Makoto stands, no firm plan aside from the she vomit of emotions she can’t wrap her head properly around.

Did she actually think she could steer this conversation into a favorable direction, thinking she had the upper hand here, just by knowing Akira isn't dead despite all the claims on TV?

“Your actions are foolish", Makoto vaguely registers Akechi's voice continue, still awfully empty, but in return hitting her all the more deeply. "But I think they'll even come in handy. Such an opportunity you just provided me with - I had my suspicions, of course, but for you to unravel so easily in front of me? Pathetic."

Makoto shudders. She hasn’t expected him to look cornered or even remotely frightened, but he’s completely unfazed. Seems _bothered_ by her presence, as if breathing the same air puts a tremendous strain on his body alone which he does well hiding.

It feels just like when Sae is looking at her, just with a lot more underlying hostility and threat.

She needs several attempts to open her mouth, corners of her lips cracking open due how dry they are. Even then Makoto can't seem to grasp one of the thousand things she wants to say, and all that leaves her are stuttered, weak breaths.

“Can you imagine it? The day where he sees the truth in all lies you provided him with? He’ll be helpless first – he tries so hard to convince himself that you’re caring, giving people instead of the vultures you are, but it will crumble what's left of his meager resolve all the faster. The realization will slowly kick in, the _acknowledgment_ that I’ve been right all along, the only person to really care for him in this rotten system.

“Oh, Nijima,” he now purrs, voice shaking with a sudden rapture of chaos and longing that feels like a whiplash to his previous, unaffected tone. “I will catch his fall when no else does. And then the thirst for vengeance will surface within him, the need to see your blood splattered. Pretty, little heads severed from useless, greedy bodies that do not know their place.”

Akechi falters, eyes now wide and innocent as he puts a hand to his chin, giving the impression of contemplating something. "Or perhaps he'll spare you and watch you suffer in the knowledge that no one but _you_ made him this way? We _are_ alike, after all. Although I admit that if he doesn't kill you, it will surely be hard for _me_ to hold myself back yet another time."

She finally finds her voice again, tongue heavy and bitter.

“You’re sick,” Makoto manages to press out, cutting through his distorted monologue. God, madness can't even begin to describe the revolting words that continue to fill the air around them with frightening, practiced ease.

The laugh he gives is colder than the iciness clinging to her skin.

The shadow Akechi throws is monstrously large, towering completely over her form and swallowing lesser colors, and all its caster does is standing there, small in comparison to the width of the ally, yet completely filling it nonetheless.

Makoto is scared of the dark, but this makes her feel an entirely new level of anxiety for which she doesn't have words to describe. Like she’ll get swallowed any second if she dares to move an inch of her body, never to be seen again, paradox to her instinct to just bolt out of here and get away from the monster borrowing human skin.

The shadows retract, and detective prince Goro Akechi is standing in front of her again.

She vaguely registers the street lamp flickering back on as he gives a sweet smile and a wave, turning and throwing her a last look over the shoulder. 

“And Akira will accept me for exactly that.”

Makoto is left alone in Kichijoji.

###  December 7th, Wednesday

Akechi sheds the exhaustion from mundane live off by slipping into the familiarity of his palace.

The act had been one of the few things in this universe that managed to get his skin crawling every time he so much as thought about visiting what's proof of his fucked up life, but the knowledge of getting to see a certain thief, all alone and pret _ty and his_ has considerably sweetened the whole ordeal.

He enters the dance room just in time to see Akira do a quick, but beautiful spin in the air, having escaped three of cognitive Robin Hood’s arrows, only to immediately swipe at the persona's feet with what seems to be an Eiha enhanced kick ( _clever,_ Akechi idly thinks), black and red energy hungrily chasing after his leg.

Arsene mirrors the action just with an entirely different angle, drop-kicking from above so that Robin Hood can only dodge to the side, just barely evading the two attacks that would have left a slower being crushed.

And Akechi is a little surprised at that.

It’s easiest if you let your persona mirror the movements you do - every Metaverse user Akechi has come across fights like that.

It's what feels the most natural, having a materialized extension of yourself mirroring the physiques of your own body, with the addition of being able to utilize the unique weapons of your persona simply by acting as if they were actually on your form.

Doing the exact opposite provides a lot more utility and endless possibilities for combinations, but remains a highly complex art Akechi doubts anyone thought of before.

It consists of detaching your persona from the heart, so much that it doesn't act as your mirror, but rather as a separate entity. At the same time you still have to keep your persona connected enough so that it doesn't run havoc on its own. 

Finding that miniscule window of balance is what makes the act so utterly difficult. And even if you do manage to gain control over your persona like that - suddenly you have an second pair of eyes, different limbs and proportions to keep track of and use, so many new sensations and possibilities flooding your brain that you can't possibly hope to process them all within the short time spans fighting leaves you with.

The best comparison Akechi can think of would be that of writing a text with one hand, and drawing a picture with the other simultaneously.

Both successfully _while_ achieving more than just satisfactory results.

Akechi, of course, had already mastered it some time ago, the dexterousness he honed from a young age playing a major part in his early success. 

He gleefully notes that the same can’t be applied to Akira who had been no different than his comrades, always moving himself to let Arsene attack or vice versa, but at least he's trying it out on his _own_ now.

Akechi had not instructed him anything along those lines just yet, and although he planned on telling him when they advanced with spell training, he hadn't accounted for Akira to already try and figure it out himself. 

With how much Akira struggles doing that, but evading Robin Hood's attacks with a lot less trouble than before, it's clear that it's one of his first, if not _the_ first attempt of trying to remote control his persona.

Arsene's limbs are uncoordinated, its momentum barely existent. The gentleman thief more often than not hinders Akira than actually helping him, but it’s still a rather impressive display when Akira _does_ manage to achieve control for just a heartbeat, and Akechi has to give him some credit for being fast enough to immediately abuse the short window of opportunity to fuse both of their attacks into a deadly combo that leaves Akechi a little breathless each time it happens.

They're incomplete and rough, but Akechi can't recall having seen anything more rapturous in a form that is unfinished.

Akechi doesn’t know exactly for how long Akira has been here already, but he can’t really pay much attention to detail when Akira turns mid-air again, coat billowing, and his face sporting one of the largest, chaotic grins Akechi ever had the pleasure of witnessing since meeting him at the TV station.

Akira doesn’t notice him yet, too far gone in the task of finally besting the cognitive persona that usually wipes the floor with him when Akechi isn’t. 

Another time Akechi would have made him realize and regret the mistake by suddenly attacking, but this time he lets it be, seeing as cognitive Robin Hood clearly seems to be more defensive than usual, even with Akira using most of his coordinative skills and attention on Arsene in an attempt to utilize him properly.

The eruption of a sudden fire spell forces Robin Hood to use a smaller version of Megidola, swallowing up just enough flames for the persona to duck under the rest.

It would be an Agidyne for anyone proficient in the Metaverse, but Akechi knows better. He had heard the quick utter of _Agilao_ just briefly before the pillars of flame shot from Arsene.

Akira's development in two Metaverse-weeks is as irritating as it is astonishing, but Akechi supposes that a bruised ego, especially for someone as confident as Joker, plus his competitive nature (courtesy of Akechi) does indeed push Akira to entirely new heights, a little faster than anticipated.

Heights Akira also seems to be enjoying tremendously.

In the end, cognitive Robin Hood still manages to get the upper hand relatively quick as soon as Akira shows the first signs of exhaustion, landing a devastating blow of a Kougaon after the thief slipped up, accidentally making himself collide with his own persona in a risky attempt to block Robin Hood's escape paths.

The black haired male is scrambling himself up fast, a proof that not only his raw fighting skills and spells improved, but his endurance as well.

Arsene vanishes in blue flames the same time cognitive Robin Hood does in bright light, back at its post outside of the room, and Akechi takes the opportunity to move from his position at the door frame further inside.

Akira is heavily panting, desperately gasping for air while kludging a bloody arm to his side. His coat and vest have suffered the most in battle, only a few stripes of black clinging to a lower back, one red glove missing.

The most prominent wound amongst all is the large, circular one just above his elbow, cutting deep and flashing stripes of white whenever Akira shifts.

It's the primary source of the pool of red slowly collecting underneath Akira's feet, smaller, superficial cuts adding into that, but considerably less generous in donating blood to the floor.

Akira searches the room, no doubt confused. Akechi knows it's because this room usually heals Akira whenever he's only fighting cognitions, and currently it just lets the thief continue to bleed.

Akechi makes his steps loud enough for the other to hear, and Akira spins on his heel. 

For a moment Akechi thinks Akira might attack him, still high on adrenaline; a burning rawness clinging to gunmetal eyes that is more dismantling than searching.

Akechi watches the internal battle unfold for one or two seconds, and grows vastly disappointed when Akira blinks, leaving a muted gray that matches the rest of his face instead.

Akira turns away as he lets the last heat of the battle fully leave him, and the way he shortly rubs at the hem of his pants tells Akechi that Akira is conflicted at not having noticed Akechi, but mostly embarrassed about letting the other see him so submerged.

It’s certainly a sobering experience; witnessing Akira reverting back to a more... incomplete and unfulfilling state, the frame of undivided passion that constructed itself around Akira gone too soon, crumbling away to reveal an aftermath of withering self-consciousness.

Akechi knows the time will come where Akira will _glow_ after a fight and embrace the feelings that come along with it, because that's one of the things Akechi is working towards.

To see the rare, bashful smile Akira sometimes lets slip turn ecstatic and beautiful and _dark,_ reserved for him only as Akira lets worry fade and desire consume him. 

Focusing back on the presence before he gets a little to caught up in his thoughts, Akechi notices that Akira's bare back is now fully turned to him.

The flesh is charred and burned a brighter color than his skin due to the holy magic that struck it, but the muscles still shift with an aesthetic that wouldn't exist without the sea of gray and white splayed across his back, painting a grotesque, but morbidly beautiful picture.

Akechi ignores the urge to touch and deepen the broken canvas on his back, and resumes closing their distance, just able to catch Akira's hand wiping away a thin trial of blood leaving cracked lips as Akira turns back around.

He's visibly more composed than before, and a sigh escapes a burned throat when the tell-tale glow of a healing spell washes over him, slowly making Akira unclench the hand he has on his wounded arm. 

“Your progress is certainly astonishing,” Akechi murmurs lowly.

He moves his hand to his chin, replaying and evaluating the performance he just witnessed.

There’s no trace left of Akira having dipped into the well of furious power, only an exhausted, but content body left. Akira is eyeing Akechi through the fringe of messy, wet bangs, expression a careful neutral.

There is a faint contentment among exhaustion, and when the deepest wound in his arm closes, Akira lets it hang limp in its usual place, dipping his head slightly. 

The only sign of gratitude he's willing to display whenever Akechi does this, but not that he can blame him too much. 

Were you supposed to thank the same person for healing you that beat you up in the first place? Akechi knows that in the unlikely scenario where their roles would have been reversed, he certainly would have done the opposite.

 _One more thing to get him more attached,_ a distant voice hisses urgently into his ear. _He doesn't have a healing persona on him, or else he wouldn't rely on you so much._

“It’s your work,” Akira says, and Akechi is reminded that he offered him a compliment about his progress earlier. 

It's a simple statement - nothing overly complicated, not taking the circumstances of their situation into account. An objective realization, as if Akechi really is just his mentor in battle and nothing more.

Akechi tilts his head, holding his gaze with more intensity. “I've mentioned it once or twice, but I have nothing but the best intentions in whatever I make you do. However, I _am_ aware of their contradicting nature at times.”

The neutral glow in Akira's eyes diminish slightly, indicating that the both of them are venturing back to unstable, undiscussed territory.

“If wanting the best for me contains driving me to the brink of death each and every time, I might really start to question your cognition of that term.”

“You haven’t already?” Akechi allows a small, amused smile to flicker on his face. "I don't know what you're complaining about, though. You seem a lot less exhausted than usual, to the point I'm afraid you don't require my aid at all. "

He's a bit disappointed at not getting an undignified blush at the implication of having to constantly carry Akira around the first week, but the fire that seems hot enough to melt steel is pretty to look at as well.

"It's still a problem," Akira laments.

"The _problem,_ as you like to call it, does not actually lie within me. It’s because its _you_ that I have to push you this far in order for you to improve.” Akechi looks upwards, contemplating. “Anything else would be too weak."

_Too unworthy._

Akira averts his head.

The detective can't see the full expression of his face and eyes in this angle, but he's sure Akira is currently experiencing a whole other set of conflicting feelings at receiving such an indirect, but strong compliment.

And Akechi just doesn't _do_ compliments.

Minutes of charged silence pass by, and Akechi uses the opportunity to let his gaze wander lower, over the planes of his bare skin Akira yet has to cover up again. 

He idly wonders how his front looked when Robin Hood's Kougaon struck him, but now Akira must have realized that he's still half naked, and he clears his throat, this time obvious evidence of embarrassment coloring his face.

Blue flames envelope Akira for a second, barely making a sound. When they wither away, the previously bared skin is covered in his signature coat and vest again, pants and missing glove renewed alongside the progress.

“What do you plan to achieve with this?", Akira asks before Akechi can use the given opportunity to tease him more. "Outside of wanting to… help me, I guess. I know you’ve not only been doing this out of sheer goodwill for me.”

Would it be too hard for you to believe if it were the case?

“You’ve had plenty of opportunities asking me that before, but the question never arose. Why now?”

A shrug. “Felt like you wouldn’t give me an answer back then. You like to keep that mysterious, vague air around you.”

Vaguely amused, Akechi lifts an eyebrow. “I assure you that's not intentional. However, I would have not denied your question. You simply never asked.” He then narrows his eyes, watches the other just a bit more intently. “But it wouldn’t have mattered, would it?”

Deciding to not draw the inevitable longer out when Akira remains stoically unfazed, Akechi crosses his arms and sighs.

“I want you to go into a palace with me."

Akira's eyes widen briefly. “I doubt it’s Sae-san’s palace.”

Akechi gives a short, humorless laugh. “No. The palace I have in mind is... certainly another caliber, but I begrudingly admit it would fit into the exponential method of choosing the Phantom Thieves' target.”

“So it’s someone pretty high ranked,” Akira muses, having gotten over his shock and now running various scenarios in his head with the info Akechi just provided. “Why?

And as much as Akechi already planned this, _dreamt_ about it so many times that the number had long slipped from him, there's a small part that isn't completely ready to unravel _himself_ before Akira. At least for now; not when rejection is still a possible outcome. 

It wouldn't mean much, not with how sure Akechi is of... converting Akira, but rejection is still rejection and something Akechi absolutely loathes in any form.

“He’s… a nuisance," he finally says.

Akechi sees Akira furrowing his eyebrows, confused, but not having overheard the serious tone in which Akechi uttered the words with.

“For whom?”

“Me,” Akechi says, and then more slowly, “you. Everyone. The man whose existence I can’t stand is the abhorrence of mankind, a product of greed and ignorance that should have been terminated the moment it arose.”

“You can outwardly say that you fucking hate him, you know?”

Akechi briskly laughs, a horrible sound that constricts within his chest.

“There is no class in insults like those, but I suppose he does not deserve it in the first place.”

Akira looks like he wants to say something, but runs red gloves through his hair instead, messing it up even more and successfully distracting Akechi for a few seconds.

It feels like they’re in Mementos, or in the Casino Sae Nijima thinks her life to be about.

Not like they’re in Akechi’s theater whose walls are slowly peeling away.

Then, slowly, hesitant, as if testing the waters when you already know it runs deep, “It’s the person who you have a grudge against, isn’t it? One of...”, Akira makes a vague gesture around him, "the reasons."

Not entirely sure what reaction to show, Akechi remains silent.

So Akira had not only paid attention to the insignificant, little sentence Akechi let slip when they discussed Sae's palace, he also seems to be the only who picked up on Akechi's messages in the Phantom group chat, buried under deception and smoke and mirrors.

Akira continues for him, expression strangely unreadable for once. “I would have... helped.”

It’s not pity in his eyes (something Akechi loathes even more than rejection), but it’s close to commiseration, a painful reminder of the Phantom Thieves existence. 

Akechi needs wrath and convictions built of hellfire, not weak, fabricated sympathy.

“I do pay attention, just so you know." Akira pauses, visibly searching for his words. "Probably more than you give me credit for. And although I still don't know who exactly that person is, it's clear that they're... very important to you. Just not in the common sense. "

Then Akira's eyes wide a fraction. Akira's stance grows slightly more relaxed despite the motion of his arms crossing over his chest. Akechi resists the urge to uncross his own.

"Is that the reason why...?”

Akechi can’t help the sharp exhale that manages to claw its way outside of his throat.

He feels familiar anger taking over every other emotion again, so he forces himself to take a few, deep breaths, shoves everything back to where it came from.

Did Akira really think the words Akechi said while taking him were merely for show? Does he think Akechi only swept him from his feet, went through the progress of caring for him, providing for him and training him is all for the purpose of simply grooming him into a palace sidekick so Akechi could get his revenge with a somewhat competent person by his side?

No. That can't be it, can it?

Akira’s eyes are pathetically soft behind the wariness that's in the front, but he's _serious,_ so sure of himself-

"You're... unbelievably frustrating," Akechi slowly says, still unable to process the reason Akira tries to desperately convince himself with now.

_And fucking dense and blind on top of that, too. Sure your glasses are fake?_

Akira gives him a weak smile. "You took the words right out of my mouth. We... could have done something, if you let us."

God, he really does try blaming Akechi's actions on the fact that Akechi had been too prideful, maybe even too _afraid_ to face the big boss on his own and therefor resorting to kidnap the only person he thinks capable?

Allowing some of the growing headache caused by unbelievable amounts of frustration alleviate through the motion of rubbing his temples, Akechi reminds himself once again to calm down. He won't get anywhere if he keeps being so disgustingly responsive to every false thing Akira deciphers.

So Akechi steps back, distances himself a little from his current view.

Akira would have practically jumped at the opportunity of helping Akechi before if he had offered. But that’s also exactly why he had shut his lips, let only hints and reference slip through that obviously only one person managed to pay attention to, no doubt leading to hesitation about changing Akechi’s heart, and immediately connecting the dots when Akechi told him about this other palace just earlier.

An uncomfortable feeling expands in his stomach. 

God, who does Akira take him for?

Akechi didn’t _kidnap_ Akira for the sole purpose of helping him get rid of Shido. Admittedly that's a nice thought, but it's not a deep-rooted _reason._ A bi-product at most he could (and will) utilize in the future.

Akechi once again realizes that he needs the Phantom Thieves _gone_. Because Akira is regrettably _something_ with them, so much more without them, but only complete with Akechi.

If he would have approached Akira before the little stunt they pulled, spilling his past, reasons and name of the perpetrator of his shit-life, Akira would have judged on behalf of his friends, forgetting that he has an own opinion. He would have been too blinded, too wrapped up in the justice of the Phantom Thieves that confuse and twist his words to see what Akechi actually wants.

It wouldn’t have resulted in the ending Akechi desires.

No.

Akira is a kind of willing darkness Akechi never stumbled upon before, a paradox that is ironically overshadowed by the light that surrounds it. He needs it _gone_ for Akira to embrace what he should have long ago.

No matter how many details would vary or clash with each-other – their ideals will still align in the end, resulting in unwavering intention and absolute actions they will look back on to laugh and amuse, not to dwell in regret.

The push and pull makes their interactions enticing and keeps it interesting, _alive_ unlike so many other, mundane things, and their opposites would only serve in deepening the similarities they have.

Akira is the only person who’d understand him on that level.

But the Akira right now wouldn’t be able to do that.

Akechi wants Akira to put his hand on his to encourage the motion of pulling the trigger, not to stop him.

But seeing Akira's reaction, his overzealous efforts of trying to reason with Akechi's behavior - well, Akechi might have spoken a bit too soon when it came to Akira's development.

Then again, he mostly referred to his combat ability in that moment.

Akechi resists the urge to rub the bridge of his nose.

If only he could have gotten his hands on him much, much earlier.

He could have guided Akira directly into the abyss instead of making him play pretend on the path of righteousness and altruism as his friends like to do it.

Such wasted potential from the start.

“Seems like I'll need to move the schedule up,” Akechi mumbles to himself. He doesn't know if the other heard him or not, but that hardly makes a difference when it's something inevitable.

Akechi feels Loki scratching at his skin, whispering to let it have a fight with Akira and continue what cognitive Robin Hood started, but he shakes the monster attracted by too many unnecessary emotions off, pulls himself back into the wretched dance room to see Akira looking back at him with a more reserved expression than before.

Good - Akira seems to have realized that he had gotten _something_ wrong.

“We’re going tomorrow," Akechi decides in a tone that leaves no room for arguments. "Do not think you can run during that period.”

Akechi _would_ find him if he does.

Akira knows that.

###  December 8th, Thursday

“Mona-chan?”

“Yes, Haru?”

“Do you think… Akechi-san is evil?”

On a request, Haru had taken Morgana out for a walk, no destination other than the journey itself in mind.

They rode trains when they felt like it, and hopped out at stops when Morgana decided it was time to.

She feels Morgana scramble in the beg, and she has to adjust the strap twice before he calms down at being asked such a vague question out of nowhere. “I don’t think he’s completely evil, but I’m pretty sure that the methods he’s using to compensate for whatever caused him to act like this is completely wrong.”

He makes another, distressed sound. “I mean, look at him! He raped and kidnapped Joker, an on top of that he somehow managed to convince the police that Joker comitted suicide!”

“...Akechi-san didn’t really kill him, did he?”

She feels Morgana shaking his head in her bag.

“No. I already checked, and Akira's presence is still as prominent as ever. Even... more so. Huh."

A short pause.

"The biggest mystery is still how he got the police and news to thinking he's dead. Maybe he did something with his cognition? I'm pretty sure he must have a cognitive Akira walking around in his theater. Makes me wonder why we didn't stumble across it...”

Haru hums low in her throat, recalling how the chat exploded when the suicide of the Phantom Thieves’ leader was announced. A quick check from Morgana a day later and the issue was resolved, but that still left many questions such as to why and how, and Haru has to regularly repeat the phrase that Akira is _not dead_ to herself so she can firmly believe it. 

The evening breeze is cooling her warm cheeks buried in a large, woolen scarf, but she refrains from inhaling too deeply, knowing the familiar scent would pull her into a more melancholic mood than she already is.

“Why do you ask? Is it because of what we’re doing?”, Morgana softly inquires.

“Partly,” Haru admits. She’s been mostly silent throughout all of their conversations and infiltration, rarely commenting on anything other than when it's battle related. “I wasn’t comfortable with the idea of invading Akechi-san’s privacy like that, simply for the fact that he has a palace.”

Haru recalls some of Ann's confession when she joined, how the Phantom Thieves wanted to change her father's heart out of similar reasons. 

“But we all heard what he said! He wanted to kill Akira! And... kinda let the world think he succeeded.”

“Akechi-san's unpredictability was the only reason why I was willing to go along with it.”

Haru watches a couple passes by, their pinky fingers linked together.

It makes her realize that she stopped, and wills her feet to move again. “He spoke about such cruel things on the phone - I didn’t think it was an issue we could have solved by confronting him about it. But now I can’t help but feel like we should have talked this a bit more over in _our_ group. Akira barely said anything in the discussion about what to do with Akechi's palace."

Morgana makes a noncommittal sound. “That’s Akira for you, though. He rarely talks. Once or twice a meeting, maybe. If we get lucky.”

She remembers long, drawn out conversations that turned into challenging arguments and discussions not meant for her ears, guilt and shame forcing her legs to move from the _closed_ sign of LeBlanc the few times she wanted to check up on Akira personally after his shift was over. 

Haru had stopped doing that when she first heard what she now knows to be Akechi's real laugh, short and and hacked and not as pretty as his usual detective chuckle.

Realizing she stirs into dangerous territory, Haru nods.

Her hair catches some of the snowy flocks dancing through the cold air, and Haru pulls her cap even deeper into her face to shield her from the chilling night at the cost of having to squint her eyes to see make out a proper path.

“Akira-kun certainly doesn't talk that much, but even then he’s usually so… sure. He's the type of person who says little sentences with much meaning behind them. But when we agreed to try and change Akechi-san’s palace...”

“...it felt like he hadn’t fully been with us,” Morgana slowly finishes. “Yeah, I think I know what you mean now. Funny how I should notice things like that when I’m the one spending the most time with him out of all."

Haru hears the voice get a self-deprecating tone towards the end, and she makes an effort to pet the beg where she thinks Morgana’s head is, even though she can't feel her own hands anymore. She hopes Morgana does.

“Don’t feel bad for it, Mona-chan. In the end, he could have still said something in the palace. I think we all missed something important here. That’s why we have to work on getting him back.”

Haru feels like she’s missing _everything_.

Morgana makes a somewhat unhappy sound, but the next sentence comes out a bit lighter. “That doesn’t sound like the Haru from just a few minutes ago.”

She pulls a grimace, knowing Morgana can’t see it. Haru wonders when it had become so easy for her.

“It still doesn’t feel like it’s completely right. Every time we’re in his theater it feels like we’re invading something. Yes Mona-chan, we _are_ infiltrating, but it feels like we’re hovering in a much more private area for real this time.” The fingers on her knitted pullover tighten. “Somewhere we truly don’t belong. Intruding in more than the literal sense.”

“Palaces exists for a reason after all,” she hears Morgana quietly mumble. "Don't forget that he's a person wicked enough to form one despite having multiplepersonas."

Haru is unable to find words to respond to that, so she stays silent, averting her eyes from the blinding white every so often. It had only recently begun to snow, and she hopes it would stay by the time Christmas comes around. The thought of a holiday without two of her best friends immediately drops her mood another few levels.

They still have no lead about Ryuji. None of them are convinced that Akechi _disposed_ of him, but the longer the days drag and the more time passes without getting even a hint on his whereabouts, the more gruesome possibilities gnaw at their resolves.

Even Futaba can’t find a single thing when browsing through the police’s networks, and nobody knows if that is a good or bad sign.

Haru feels guilty for investing less time in him than they do for Akira, but they’re having no straws to grab in his case since every effort for Ryuji turned out to be fruitless, and in Akira's case they have a solid, if rather unobtainable lead.

All they can do is look without exception, asking friends, classmates and listening in on conversations held in shady bars in hopes of getting a hint on where Ruyji could be.

A sign that's he's alive and not dead or sold off or-

It’s only when she sees more and more people in fancy coats and suits passing by at such a late hour that Haru realizes they’re in Nagatacho. The diet building is still alight at such an hour, relentlessly illuminating the surrounding with ominous shadow and light plays when the clouds decide to interfere as well.

“Haru,” Morgana silently mumbles. She barely catches it, shifting the bag a little towards her in hopes of hearing him better. When nothing follows, Haru thinks she might have just imagined it, but then the bag rumbles a bit before stilling again.

“How… was it?”

She stays silent, watching thicker getting flocks try and cover up the more used paths to no avail.

It’s actually a pretty sight, the frozen water that paints most surfaces a stark, but soft white, offering a contrast to the harsh, modern structure of the Diet building.

Haru knows it’s almost 12PM, and there are _still_ so many people buzzing around the district, a mother with her children who excitedly points at a Christmas decoration hanging off a tree, two tall men closely huddled together, directly admiring the building itself, another business woman heatedly speaking into her phone, uncaring of whoever listens.

She deliberately swallows, adjusting her scarf. “Do you really want to know, Mona-chan?”

“I… I do. When you guys speak about it, you always use very general terms. Not that I discourage it – the snippets I’ve heard are enough to fuel my imagination a bit, but it’s… still hard to grasp. I feel like I’m ignorant, not knowing the exact scale of what Akechi had done to him.”

“You don’t _need_ to know,” Haru says softly. There’s a bit of rustling, and she doesn’t need to avert her eyes from the snow to know Morgana’s head peaks out of an opening.

She realizes her mistake, quickly corrects in a softer tone, “No one _wants_ you to know, Mona-chan. It’s a gruesome experience, and not something we want to force you through.”

“You wouldn’t be forcing me,” Morgana says, a bit of confidence shining through the solemnness in his blue eyes.

“I- I _want_ to know. We’ve shared everything as Phantom Thieves, so it's only rightful that I should know what happened in detail as well.”

Haru can read between the lines and sighs inwardly.

No matter how cruel the experience is, Morgana feels left out. Maybe especially because of that. The impact the night had was massive, shifting dynamics, introducing tentative allies and most of all making each of them realize how much _less_ they are without their leader.

From Futaba Haru knows that the computer-gifted girl had picked up Morgana while Akechi had been _busy_ , the turned-cat-human left alone in the destroyed fake safe room.

 _Left,_ not _worthy_ enough to force Morgana to watch as well, not worthy enough to even kill.

Akechi gave the Phantom Thieves a twisted, sick kind of special treatment, all while ignoring Morgana completely and leaving him out of the loop, forcing him to rely on his teammates to fill him in on what happened after they all got kicked out.

They did, of course, in vague terms because no one was comfortable speaking about it.

And Haru feels that if she doesn’t tell Morgana all of it, he might slowly go back to older habits, loosing himself in his self-consciousness once more. It already happened after Futaba joined (even though Ryuji's insensivity played a big factor), but Akira isn’t around to comfort Morgana’s conscience anymore, the only person that made Morgana probably stay a lot longer than he intended to before everything snapped.

They’re threading on thin ice thought to be stable again.

She walks to the safety of a tree, leaning against it as her eyes are still fixated on the gate in the distance.

Almost mechanically does she begin reciting, remembering everything too clear to not have ugly guilt turn inside her head once more.

“I woke up disoriented, but my body had not hurt - I just felt a bit different than usual. I quickly realized that I was bound to a rather comfortable chair, and when I looked around, the others were in the exact same situation. We sat in a large, beautiful hall, front-row in an audience full of non-distinguishable forms, and in front of us was, well, the stage.”

She pauses, fidgeting with the few curls of hair peaking through her cap. The snow doesn’t reach her as much with the looming form of a tree above her as in the open, but some flakes still fight their way adamantly through the leaves.

“Akira was inside of a giant glass cage directly on top of that. An extra measure to make sure that no one got close to him, I s-suppose. His... hands were above his head, a cloth tied around the wrists that went to the ceiling, and he couldn’t speak with us as well due to another on his mouth.

“He wasn’t conscious when we woke up, and we all feared for the worst, trying to call out to him. Eventually he did stir and we could confirm that he felt alright at least for that moment – even though the situation was anything to relax at. And then- the lights just went off.

“I was so panicked, Mona-chan. I wished I could have grabbed for Ryuji-kun’s hand, or for Makoto-chan’s, but all I could do was grip the chair and hope that Akira would still be alright when the lights turn on again.”

“I assume that’s the part where Akechi came in,” Morgana mumbles, slow as to not overwhelm Haru while she recites.

She nods, fixating her eyes on another pair of fairly tall men, walking side by side.

“Yeah. Even when it was still dark, Akechi’s voice echoed throughout the hall, welcoming us and overall making us feel like this was some sort of twisted show. And then a slightly deeper voice said… so many things, Mona-chan, I can’t remember them all. I just know they weren’t kind to us. Akira had answered once or twice, but it only served for Akechi to convince himself that he was doing is right.

“And- when the lights turned on, there were- two of them. Shadow Akechi had stood in the front, demanded all attention. He wore a similar outfit to Akechi when he’s in the Metaverse, just… a lot more regal, I suppose.”

“What? That’s possible!?”

The slightly indecorous tone had her chuckle into her hand despite not being in the mood for jokes, glad that Morgana is able to dissipate parts of even the thickest tension with his innocence.

“Yeah. A long, white cape with what could be a high collar. He looked like a very important general, I think. Someone who has fought war after war and emerges victorious each time, earning envious and admiring looks left and right. Someone who has never known defeat. And- another Akechi stood behind Akira. The real one, if I’m not mistaken, in his casual detective outfit.”

She remembers the scene vividly. Haru shouldn’t have been too surprised, remembering a few theories Akira had muttered under his breath when everybody had been concentrating on clearing the shadows, but it still felt odd at seeing two striking images of the same person that were yet so different.

The real Akechi had looked strangely content, satisfied, and at first Haru had been confused why Akira already seemed strangely flushed, cloth around his mouth gone, discarded on the floor.

She should have really noticed earlier, the occasional gasps displayed obscenely loud through invisible speakers while Akechi was talking in that sensual voice of his.

She had… well, hoped for the better, if a bit naïve.

“And then this… show started. Shadow Akechi left, but I know he must have been watching from somewhere as well. As for Akira and Akechi...”

“I can imagine,” Morgana said, mourning, but in a tone than clearly indicates that he wants her to continue.

“Yeah,” Haru eloquently adds. “Just like we couldn’t escape or use our personas, Akira couldn’t do anything. He was as helpless as a newborn, at the mercy of Akechi’s touch. And- Mona-chan, I know he _raped_ him, but-”

She broke off, feeling tears forming in her eyes. Haru wishes they’d fall, but they didn’t, always threatening the line between overflowing and retracting. It’s a conflict she found herself in regularly since the failed heist on Akechi’s palace.

“But he just looked so… pretty. So beautiful that it hurt my heart. Akechi touched him everywhere. Chest, front, backside. He held him so sensually yet firm. As if unable to decide whether he wants to break or worship him. A-and it didn’t help that Akira enjoyed it as well, even though we all knew he didn’t want to. Physical touch i-is something your body can’t defend itself against.”

“And the sensations flood your brain and make you unable to think clearly,” Morgana slowly adds. “I think I understand. What else?”

Haru snaps her head into the direction of Morgana. “Mona-chan, why are you- why are you ignoring the obvious?”

“What?”

She reels her head back, pressing the sleeves of her jacket tentatively against her eyes. “I- I got aroused while watching him get _raped_. I felt myself getting hot and bothered, imagining my hands on his body- isn’t that absolutely horrible? How could I just watch Mona, and get _aroused_ over such a situation as well? When he’s clearly suffering, just not outwardly? I didn’t even look away.”

The tears still don’t fall, but she doesn’t break either. She wishes she would.

"This must have been on your mind for a while now, huh?", Morgana says, soft and low, as if speaking to a scared child.

Resignation settles heavy into her bones, like it always does whenever she thinks back on the events.

Haru had already cried plentiful over her guilt and shame and conflicting emotions that came with the memory – only painful acceptance is left and the foolish hope that Akira would find it in himself to forgive her.

“You’re human, Haru-chan,” Morgana continues in the same tone. Whiskers tickles her cheek, and she hates herself for giggling weakly when the cat reaches out of the bag to press his head to hers. “Didn’t we establish it earlier? You can’t help physical stimulation, so it doesn’t surprise me that visual stimulation might have a similar affect, no matter the circumstances.”

“But that’s still horrible! I didn’t even-”

“Didn’t what, Haru? Run to him, fight Akechi? There was _nothing_ you could do but watch, and I think that’s exactly what he wanted to achieve as well. Hell, I couldn't have done anything even if he'd... taken me to the audience as well, as much as I hate to admit it. Resent his motives, but don’t be ashamed over a natural reaction of your body, even if the circumstances aren’t exactly favorable. Besides, knowing Yusuke, I doubt he had a much different reaction from you.”

Her eyebrows draw together as she tries recalling the state of her friends. It had been quite hard to focus on anything but Akira on the stage, but Haru doesn’t think she imagined the tent straining the artist’s pants as well. 

Then again, it's an unspoken secret that Yusuke seems to be having more feelings for Akira than is appropriate.

Haru is aware of her own, but it's different because her idea of friendship is more intimate than others. Not exclusive to Akira only, but it seems to be the most prominent with him.

She chews on her bottom lip, then abruptly stops once she realizes what she’s doing. “You might be… right, but that doesn’t change anything if I lay the blame on others as well.”

“You’re not laying the blame on others,” Morgana interferes. “You’re completely blaming yourself, even though you know the others were in similar situations. It’s an admirable trait that you still seek the mistake within yourself, but you need to realize that it isn’t one when everybody did it, especially given the circumstances.”

Haru feels Morgana slightly kneading her shoulder in his usual, cat-like way, no matter how many times he tries to deny behaving like one. Since his claws aren’t extended, her garment don’t stick to his paws, something Haru is grateful for.

Morgana speaks up again, a bit uncomfortable, but assured. “I mean, even _I_ can see the appeal of Akira. I’m human, of course, but I won’t deny that being in cat-form has its impacts on my view on some things. And even in this temporary cat form, I have to admit that frizzy hair is pretty attractive. I should know that the best, being shaken wildly around my bag whenever he runs from an admirer... so I don’t think you should be ashamed or trying to put a stigma on yourself for your reactions.”

It takes a while for Haru to find her words again, hesitation splitting her skin open, but overall feeling a little less pressed. “I don’t know if I can do that yet, but I will certainly try. Thank you, Mona-chan.”

The kneading stops so Morgana can lick his paw, but the look he sends her is fond.

“No worries. I think we should focus on a different matter. We’ve gone over this already, but not to the extend I would have liked. Has Akechi said anything… memorable during the show?”

“Like I said, I don’t remember details,” she says, fiddling with her fingers. Haru still feels horribly empty. “But it was a lot of talk about us. How the Phantom Thieves are not good for him, twisting his view. How Akira is off better without us, and that Akechi is the only person for Akira.”

“That’s nonsense,” Morgana says, so confident and sure that Haru wants to believe him. “Without us, he’d never go to sleep. We’re looking out for him, that’s all we do.”

They both stay silent for a while. The cold is biting at the little skin left exposed, but Haru finds that she doesn’t mind it too much.

Morgana is proving to be a distraction as well, almost draped over her shoulder from where he picked up on rubbing his cheek against her again.

The motion comes to a halt, whiskers retreating enough that she doesn’t feel them tickle her cheek anymore.

“What does it have to do with Akechi being evil, though?”

Tenderness grips her heart, cutting through the guilt and making a horrible, horrible feeling swapping over the other senses.

“Because I feel like- I feel like Akechi-san just wants somebody at his side. He always seems so lonely, in TV and even when he was with us, but with Akira he just seems… a bit more alive. Like he’s breathing for once.”

 _And vice versa,_ a bitter, but cyncal voice unhelpfully supplies. _Something you can't do._

“But we can’t, uh, _give_ Akira to him just because he’s lonely, Haru-chan. Look at what he’s done!”

“I know,” Haru sighs, feeling twice her age. “I know, but it feels like we misunderstood him when we had the chance to try and understand so many times. I fear that.. he won’t take it well if we take Akira from him.”

Even as a detective, Akechi had always paid more attention to Akira, insulted him less than the others which was as big as a compliment you could get from him.

Sometimes he wasn’t even subtle about his more refined feelings for the leader of their group, seemingly always wanting to test the waters, yet retracting his statement with a charming grin and a flick of his hair.

Haru always saw the slight dejected expression in Akira’s eyes whenever it happened.

But he had always, always looked at Akira like he saw more in him than they did.

He doesn’t spent much time around him like they do, and from what Haru had hear in her guilt-ridden nights in front of the café, they never really talked to Akira about his own problems and emotions like everyone else does, but rather coaxes Akira to him.

With that in mind, Akechi’s sanity seems to be composed of thin threads that are as hard as steel, but gives away easily when the right pressure is applied.

Morgana makes a distressed sound that does little to sooth the ache in her heart.

“You feel too much empathy for a single human being,” he mumbles, adoration lacing the edges of his voice.

“Especially him. Akechi has done nothing but bad things even before we accepted him into our team. Klled your father, planned on killing Akira, killed so many other people, _and_ making you watch such a despicable act. Yet here you are, trying to reason _why_ and feeling for it like no other person could.”

Has she ever cared about her father? No, she cared about-

“It’s just- I can’t help but feel like-”

Haru cuts herself off the moment a familiar, slightly nauseating pull sweeps her off her feet, only to drop her in a setting that feels familiar but looks different.

“Haru,” she hears Morgana hiss, and by instinct alone she immediately ducks behind what appears to be a golden, abstract construction, barely wide enough to cover herself and Morgana who- is in his Metaverse form.

The previous ball of anxiety, guilt and even hope that made her thoughts heavy and limbs tired is immediately replaced by an alarming fear.

“What’s going on?”, she shout-whispers.

They are definitely in the Metaverse, but she can’t recall triggering it. Sunken buildings are drifting by with rapid speed, some on the verge of collapsing before dipping into the deep, red-ish ocean.

“We’re on a ship,” Mona whispers back, but his voice holds a strange amount of strain.

“Haru. I want you to turn around very slowly. After you did that without freaking out, you’re going to activate the app and bring us back, ok?”

She nods, unable to form a coherent sentence with the lump in her throat as she does what Mona instructed, feeling every scrape of clothing against her suddenly hypersensitive skin.

In the distance, a person clad in a white-red outfit stands, together with a vastly familiar form next to him. Both gaze upon the warped Diet building in front of her, entrance closed, yet daring.

“This is bad,” Morgana mutters the same time Haru gasps.

She pulls out her phone with trembling hands, trying to remember how the Metaverse navigator works again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _regarding the context: most of December 6th content is actual in-game stuff that's being said. In this case, it was really what the news were saying during the cutscenes after Akechi killed off cognitive Akira - of course with a different setting and day! I have several other dialogue elements in the future that are actually canon, but will be more or less subtly different due to the changes this universe has undertaken._
> 
> _Makoto's entire personality here is based around the one sentence which actually really stuck to me when the Phantom Thieves discussed (more or less voluntarily) changing Sae's heart, that being the one where she referred to exactly that being her entire reason for joining. I'm still sorry if I offend any Makoto lovers out there, but I promise Akechi's bashing is harder than it actually is and she's still a caring person and will have reasons for acting the way she does later!_
> 
> _Also yeah, it's implied Akechi has met other Metaverse users aside from the Phantom Thieves. How many? Are they still alive? What happened? Well, we shall never know because I didn't continue that string of thoughts but I assume it'd be logical for more Metaverse users to exist (even outside of Japan lol). I'll just leave it up to you what he did when he met them XD_
> 
> _For me it makes the most sense that a Metaverse navigation pulls every potential and active persona-user inside within a certain radius. It's how Akechi 'accidentally' got inside Okumura's palace for example, and it would also explain how every other, random person standing within like 3m away from them doesn't get sucked in as well each time they do it. Unless, of course, the nav is activated with the intent to do so._
> 
> _Haru still used -kun for Akechi in the engine room, knowing what happened. Seeing as we progressed a little further (and differently), I think it's safe to say that she reverted back to -san, but the angel she is, she still adds honorifics. And yes, she's also the kind of person to linger outside the café, eavesdropping on Akeshu talking._
> 
> Ok, now that the 'formal' stuff is out of the way....
> 
> *breathes in*
> 
> ***breathes out***
> 
> Dragontamer/slayer Goro and dragon Akira. 
> 
> Ok THERE I SAID IT  
> 
> 
> Yes, that's my current agenda, and I promise it will just be a smut oneshot lol. It's the first thing I'll write once I'm done with this fic HAHA no one can stop me god I'm so parched dsadasno;_; (EDIT: I've actually already written it, so check out my other works if you want to read it!
> 
> *sobs in top goro*
> 
> Anyway, as promised, smut in next chapter. Stay tuned <3


	8. made and broken down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **EARLY UPDATE IN CELEBRATION OF KING TAEMIN'S COMEBACK**  
> 
> 
> Ok, back to the chapter. The smut. Yeah. Please tell me how I did with that lol it's I think the third smut I've completed in my life? Critique of all kind would be appreciated!
> 
> I'll mark the section when the smut comes up in case it's not your thing. 
> 
> It's also a lot softer than I anticipated and maybe not placed where you would expect it. No beta other than myself like always.
> 
> **Trigger Warning**
> 
> I say the smut is soft, but a comment made me look at it in another perspective. I've been getting so used to playing manipulative Goro that it just seems normal to me now to write him that way, if that makes any sense. But it does not change the fact that I'd still consider this dubious consent because Goro is essentially _manipulating_ him into this, both physically and mentally. Akira doesn't protest nearly as much as in the prequel, and the future smuts will mostly still be considered manipulative. If that is not your thing, then PLEASE skip the smut or don't continue reading at all - this series isn't titled _Joker's corruption_ out of fun.
> 
> Enjoy this 14k monster!

###  December 9th, Friday

Akechi couldn’t have been more… ah, what’s the word again? Proud.

The start was slow, with Akira looking as disgusted as him the first time Akechi set foot on the ship. Halfway through the entrance hall he had winced when hearing Shido’s voice blast over the loud speakers, staring off into empty space until Akechi had to nudge him out of his trance.

Akechi couldn’t find a logical explanation for that on the spot, and with shadows looming in front of them and already alerted to their presence, he had decided to store the information for later, and continued dragging Akira along.

The other had already asked about the palace and its direct meaning on their way to the diet building, but Akechi simply shrugged him off, told him that he’d find out with time.

The more complicated affairs would come later – for now, he wanted to test Akira's improved abilities against opponents other than Akechi himself.

Akira had been reluctant at first, mostly staying in the background the first few rounds and more distracted by the glorious façade of the palace itself. Akechi had already anticipated that, so he used a small amount of power from Loki on the shadows, making them more prone to target Akira instead of him.

He was mindful enough to not dip too deep in the well of slumbering rage to prevent a change of personas, though.

Akechi had opted to use Robin Hood instead of Loki – he felt like it was still not the right time to fully show his other side, but allowed himself to fall into a more comfortable rhythm consisting of a fast-paced, merciless fighting style.

Far from the ruthless devotion he usually slices his enemies into unrecognizable pieces with, but also not his accustomed, princely demeanor he had dreaded using while still acting as a temporary Phantom Thief member.

Akira most likely figured out that Akechi had done _something_ , since he sent Akechi an irritated look when two shadows just stormed past said male to get to Akira.

The indignance was replaced by surprise when Akira became aware of the ease in which he evaded the first onslaught of monsters with, and Akechi had smirked to himself, pleased at the anticipated turn of events.

It was only a natural consequence – Akechi’s speed is far superior than what the monsters could hope to reach on Shido’s ship, and since Akira had been accustomed to fighting on such a high level exclusively, the shadows were not only slower in comparison, but also noticeably weaker.

While Akira was getting used to fighting with newfound fervor, Akechi immersed himself in the feeling of getting rid of Shido'sshadows as well.

Seconds stretch into minutes as they clear out areas, and Akechi's thoughts and mouth became less restrained, attacks more vicious. He moved faster than what he ever dared to showcase with the Phantom Thieves, appreciating the simplicity of killing or getting killed.

Poster slightly slouched, not as straight as before, but brimming with energy just waiting to be unleashed with a flick of his wrist. He was still cautious to not completely lose himself in the rush of sensations - accidentally summoning Loki was something he wanted to avoid for now.

As much as Akechi longed to see the look on Akira’s face when he'd let the devilish persona take over, chaos and madness distorting princely colors into sinister and dark ones, he wanted to reserve that for a time when it would have the most impact.

That doesn’t necessarily mean that Akechi had been holding back – the glittering halls and unnecessarily golden everywhere made that a hard job anyway, gloating and sparkling and so utterly fake and pompous that on various occasions Akechi had been tempted to stick his saber into a wall and just _drag_ it along for some distance.

He didn't because he has more control than Shido, and because the cognition would just regenerate by the time they left anyway, meaning it would have been nothing but a useless, petty endeavor. 

What Akechi did indulge in, however, was that the used the opportunity to run havoc on Shido's ship to show off just a little more than usual.

It certainly worked with the way he felt Akira’s eyes following his form more than the disgusting, masked shadows Shido keeps on a tight leash, and it filled him with deep satisfaction at having Akira's attention all to himself.

Especially when Akechi was doing less and less to uphold the pleasantry mask of the detective that is plastered all over the media.

Akira just seems to be looking at him more the _less_ effort Akechi puts into maintaining the façade he lives with, as if the Akechi who had been slicing apart shadows with unmatched malevolence while shouting words of degeneracy is just as interesting as the Akechi smiling into the camera.

To lay himself barer than he'd usually allow, and _still_ be accepted, be sought out after - It’s an addictive feeling that Akechi couldn't help but continue chasing.

Akechi barely knows how to hold back in a fight (words of superiority compensate for the lack of familiar chaos when fighting with Robin Hood, and suppressing even that proved to be a rather taxing task with the insolent nature of the Phantom Thieves.

But seeing Akira apply what he learned so wonderfully is freeing to watch, triggering him into giving even more.

The remnant of cautiousness Akira initially possessed slowly dissipated the longer they fought side by side, the thief realizing that the shadows are only of mediocre difficulty at best due to the efforts of Akechi’s instructions.

Akechi saw him go faster, stances less composed, but attacks all the more vicious as he answered to more prompts Akechi gave him, no doubt trying to catch up with newfound resolve and letting gnawing worries about the palace leave with every slice of his dagger.

Akira had certainly been falling back into his older habits with flashier and more extravagant moves, but since they were going against opponents where such actions could be allowed, Akechi let it slide, knowing the habit wouldn't carry over once they both face each-other again.

In addition to that, Akechi also noted that the thief incorporated more Taekwondo oriented moves than usual, mostly in the form of various spinning kicks and counter movements. It's something he barely used when fighting against Akechi, most likely working on them on his own since Akechi isn't too knowledgeable about moves focsued around the martial arts originating from Korea.

It’s when they were at the pool deck, finishing two flying mantras with a deadly combo-attack that Akira finally returned the smirk that had been permanently engraved on Akechi's face already, wind storming furiously as the aftermath of their finishing attack blew up behind them, only serving to increase the rush of adrenaline intoxicating both of their bodies.

Akira grinned wildly when he gracefully jumped onto another shadow’s back a while later, ripping off its mask with an ease more prominent than previous.

He didn't falter when Akechi _th_ _rew_ a downed Narcissus at him, using the opportunity to deliver a brutal combination of slashes to finish it mid-air.

And Akira hesitated only half a second to line up a charged Giant Slice alongside Akechi's Vicious Strike, the blending of both physical skills tearing through the mechanical, golden body of a King Frost in one go.

Akira wasn’t used to fighting like that – seeing his enemies fall apart so much more easily than before, wicked and efficient at the same time, all while consciously accessing the lower spell tier system alongside the bases of his body.

There was no one to hold him back, no one who asked for commands, no one that needed Akira's attention other than the shadows because him and Akechi move on a level of synergy that the other Phantom Thieves couldn't even dream to achieve.

The only downside worth mentioning was that Akira underestimated his newly gained speed and strength at times, leading to some situations where Akechi simply had to step in to take care of the shadows who thought they could lay so much as a scratch on his thief.

The both of them barely made use of their persona, preferring a more personal approach when ripping shadows apart.

The few times Akechi did make use of Robin Hood, often just to deal with smaller fry he really didn't see the sense in bothering with outside of quickly downing the enemy, Akira responded by calling upon Arsene as well.

To match him out of pride or spite? It didn't matter, not when it resulted in the same trail of destruction left behind.

Akechi didn’t bother keeping a kill count (which he usually does) since he sent most mobs Akira’s way, but it’s a small loss in comparison to how Akechi got to see Akira blossom between sprays of blood and shadow remnants, his eyes without the reluctant glint from the beginning.

If Akira learns to take what he wants, something his body easily complies to in fighting, that familiarity would soon blend into habits outside of combat as well.

He still needs to sort the issue out with Akira jumping to the wrong conclusion of Akechi kidnaping him solely for Shido, but he’ll do so another time when he wasn't busy drinking up the sight of Akira opening, moving even faster, diving into the enemies head-first as if their sole existence offended him, rightfully so-

Ahh.

Yes, Akechi is nothing but proud and accomplished when they exit the Metaverse after two hours.

That’s why he spends some seconds staring up into a polluted skyline, contemplating which fast food restaurant open at 1AM would suit their (meaning Akira's) taste best.

And of course Akira has to ruin the high aftermath of rushing through the Metaverse by bolting the second Akechi took his eyes off him.

Well, considering the circumstances, Akira's best chances really are outside of the Metaverse.

Akechi had still hoped he’d be smarter.

They gather some looks from lone passersby, but none is bothered to stop a teenager running after another at this hour, too unaffected by something that doesn't concern them.

Akira is fast, slipping through allies and disappearing more often than not in the masses of anonymous faces crowding more popular places at night, but Akechi is _livid_ , more adrenaline fueled by anger and disappointment making his body act faster than even just a few minutes ago when they had taken the last shadows for the area down.

He can count the things valuable to him with one hand.

Akira would _not_ get away from him.

After three minutes of chase, Akechi manages to catch Akira by his wrist and then _tugs_ , earning a pained yelp. Akechi might have dislocated the wrist, and he’s sure the skin around his gloves is already bruising.

But he’s relentless when he sweeps Akira away from the small streets into a shady ally, shoving him against the wall the instant both are out of the main street.

The length of Akechi’s forearm instantly shoots forward to press against Akira’s throat, his left hand loosening its grip on bruised skin to slam it into the wall next to Akira's head.

“I had hoped you were smarter,” he hisses, takes delight in the way fear starts dripping into parts of the stormy gray his glasses don't obscure.

Even with a sprained wrist both of Akira’s hands come up to claw at his arm, but Akechi just presses him harder into the cold brick, effectively making the other gasp for air.

“Trying to run away after I’ve decided to reward you for your obedience? Utterly disappointing.”

“How is taking me to a palace a reward?”, Akira manages to wheeze, voice strained and higher due to the pressure on his throat.

The fingers digging into Akechi’s arm hurt, but it’s nothing compared to the void he feels on the inside.

He narrows his eyes. “I wanted to grab dinner with you just before you decided to test my patience by trying to run. How many times have I told you that it's _useless_?” The struggling ceases a bit, and Akira’s eyes widen momentarily.

But then it resumes, efforts weaker and stronger at the same time, and Akechi grits his teeth in annoyance.

“No-," Akira pants, fingers becoming more desperate. "You wouldn’t have, it was just-”

“I would have,” Akechi interrupts the other in a sharp tone.

“Akira." Fingers tighten. "When will you finally be able to see that unlike everyone else, I actually care? And not only such mundane things as taking you out to dinner - I can unlock what others have suppressed, help you become what you deserve to be. Why are you still resisting? You’ve felt it yourself, didn’t you? What you can do if you’d just let go. So why are you _limiting_ yourself to others?”

He retracts his forearm a bit so that Akira can speak without gasping for bits of precious air every few words. 

Loud coughs follow, and Akira's tongue comes out to moisten dry lips. He laughs, weak and humorless and full of teeth.

“You kidnapped me, kept me inside your palace for weeks, isolating me from everything else. That is anything but... freeing. Have you ever considered that I may not want any of the things you say? That I _don’t_ want to cut myself off from my friends and don’t want to become all mighty and glorious so you can parade me around?!”

“Have you considered that I never wanted a change of heart?”

The silence that follows is deafening, not even their accelerated breathing properly heard in the darkness of the night.

Akechi narrows his eyes, searches for a response in the other’s face. The glasses are back on since Akira's outside the Metaverse, and they’re large, unnecessary, reflecting the sparse light.

Akechi can’t fucking see his eyes properly like that, so he grabs the glasses, tugs them off of Akira’s face and throws them aside, uncaring of its fate.

“You don’t need them. Not with me.”

The fake glasses shatter on the floor after colliding with a dumpster, and Akechi can see their breaths curling in heated waves between them.

Akira flinches but remains silent, angry defiance hardening the rest of his face and making his mouth set into a reverse smile. His eyes are sharp and hard as steel, unforgivingly meeting Akechi's probing gaze head on. 

Challenging him, not knowing he's losing.

It’s satisfying to see what he desperately tries to hide, and no matter how many arguments Akira will pull, Akechi knows how to dissect layers like no one else. So he watches and watches as the seconds trickle into minutes, none of them saying anything. 

Akechi leans a bit closer, intent on unraveling Akira with his eyes alone.

The nails that had been relentlessly trying to breach the thickness of Akechi's jacket twitch before loosening the slightest bit, and Akechi can see past the murky furry, watches the single, dull spark of uncertainty hesitantly bloom in the eye of a raging storm.

It’s all Akechi needs.

“If you thought enforcing your beliefs on me through a change of heart was ok, doesn’t that mean what I’m doing right now is fine as well?” He says it in a calm, desolate voice, watching as the storm stutters further. 

He must have hit a sore spot, seeing Akira’s eyes widen a few fractions afterwards, not noticeable unless you stand in close proximity. Reminiscent guilt trembles within them.

“But you _know_ that, don’t you? Felt uncomfortable with the idea from the start, hesitant when you wandered through my palace, maybe even wondering what caused to spawn it in the first place.

"You‘re drowned in the needs of other people and fail to see your own,” Akechi says, painfully soft as he reduces the pressure on Akira’s throat even further. “The only good thing that came out of it was your own interest in me, no doubt thinking I needed to be _saved_ as well.”

“It was a tempting opportunity,” Akira slowly says, narrowing his eyes at Akechi despite his disadvantageous state. “We were desperate and didn't have many options. Changing your heart may not have been the best idea, but it wasn't like we could sit down with you and have a talk about it."

Akechi pulls at the collar of Akira's black jacket, forcing his upper body away from the wall, more into Akechi. “That might be true, but it still didn't give you the right to meddle with my psyche with a method such underhanded as this. Or anyone else's, for that matter."

"And what you're doing is completely _fine?_ I know what you've been trying to achieve, Akechi. Neither am I dumb nor blind - I just value my life enough to follow along with what you say," Akira heatedly responds, unaffected by the lack of distance between them.

A scowl manages to find a way on Akechi's face. "Sure you are? You've been rather _happy_ during the time you spent in your room. Don't try to fool me - you're undeniably enjoying what I give you. And I don't _fault you for that, Akira._ I'm trying to fucking _encourage_ it."

Akechi mutedly sighs, feels some of the anger leaving him while he retracts his hand from the wall next to them.

"You always seem to see what others lack, always finding the right words to say. It might kept you sane, satisfied in the beginning. A goal to ground you. But it has evolved into an unhealthy habit, nothing short of self-destructive, and just now you were finally starting to recover from it.”

Dull, brown-red eyes watch as Akira trembles under feather-light touches on his cheek. Akechi is reminded that it’s snowing – a big flock is caught in black eyelashes, not yet melting with the prominent coldness around them and the lack of direct body heat.

“You’re afraid to let go of what you know, even if it’s little and barely worth it,” Akechi mumbles. His thumb rests on the bottom of Akira’s lips, still somewhat wet, but close to drying out once again due to the harshness of winter. 

“I can understand that, in a sense. But you also need to realize that you need to _stop_. You’re better off without any of your confidants. You’ll always feel unsatisfied, exhausted. There’ll always be an emptiness in your soul and body that only deepens the more time you spent with them because they’re voracious, little creatures. And we both know who is able to fill that.”

A flash goes through Akira’s eyes, too fast for Akechi to identify. When he doesn’t feel the thief trembling under him anymore, he fully cups his face with both palms, admiring the paleness that stands out even more in the dark.

Sees the petals of his flower shaking in fear of letting go off the relationship he thinks to be symbiotic.

He tilts Akira’s head to the left, to the right, takes in how hair littered with flakes of white looks from different angles. Akira’s eyes never leave him, and neither does Akechi want them do.

The acid in his stomach retracts, makes way for a softness and passion that Akechi makes sure to convey with his eyes as well.

“We’re two sides of the same coin. Different looks, different ambitions as the initiate fuel, a different perspective depending on how you look at us. But in the end,” he whispers into the other’s ear, digging his fingertips into white skin to steady when he feels tremors raking through Akira's body, “we are one, serving a single purpose, never able to part from each other. Separating us would only cause harm, and being with anyone else is unfulfilling. Fatal. That leaves us with one option, doesn't it?”

“No, we- we’re not,” Akira shakily says, a mere whisper in the caress of the night. “Stop. Just stop saying such things.”

His eyes are slightly blurry, but they still focus on Akechi, trying to make sense of the man pushing him against the wall of a dark ally.

Akechi pushes and pushes. “What things?”

“Like- like it’s actually true. Like my friends are nothing but a lie I held close to my heart all this time.”

Akechi smiles. _They are._ But Akira isn’t finished, visibly ringing with his words. “God, I shouldn’t be able to develop such doubts anyway. What-”

He stops, and starts closing his eyes with soft shivers of his eyelashes. “Just what are you doing to me?”

“I’m doing what I think is right. What I know you deserve.”

“I don’t deserve any of this,” Akira responds, so airily that Akechi almost didn't catch his words. “I don’t deserve anything, and neither do you.”

_He deserves the w **or** ld, their hea **r** ts, wr **athfu** l **v** eng **eance, red and b** l **ack an** d **consuming and obliterating-**_

Akira opens his eyes again at that, meeting Akechi's gaze.

Akechi expected tears, but Akira's orbs are big and angry and yet so fucking frightened that Akechi wants to deliver the Phantom Thieves head on a silver plate, assuring him that no one else would ever be able to hurt and take from him.

Akechi closes his eyes. “You do. _We_ do. We deserve the whole world and so much _more._ And we can easily obtain it - all you need to do is take my hand.”

Akira’s breath hitches at his declaration. “Fuck, Akechi, I shouldn’t- I shouldn’t even remotely feel any of the things I do with just what you did to me. Kidnapping me, beating me half to death-”

He stutters for a second, clearly thinking about the supposed _rape._ Akechi suppresses a chuckle, leans just a bit closer to see Akira’s eyes widen out of a different emotion.

“Fuck. J-just why are you just so- complicated? Why just can’t everything work out? Why can’t I meet my friends and you at the same time? Why do you say such things now when all you've done prior is rejecting me?”

"I've never rejected you," Akechi assures him, tilting his head just a little towards the hidden stars.

Vulnerability really is a good look on Akira, he decides, especially if caused by him.

Akira must have spoken about the time where Akechi gave a bit more into his flirty tendencies, but always kept the other at bay. He had found the thief attractive a long time ago before his fascination beyond envy and infuriation started, and even when Akechi acknowledged his more deeply woven feelings for the leader of the Phantom Thieves (culprits, culprits, _all of them),_ he needed Akira _alone._

Akechi had planned on achieving that when he'd trick them in Sae's palace - Making everyone else think it was suicide while he'd take Akira to his apartment or palace after getting him out of the cell and Sae out of the picture.

He still achieved that most of that, of course, just earlier than anticipated because the Phantom Thieves breached the door of his theater on their own, wanting to see a performance only one was invited to.

"Oh, I did want you," Akechi mumbles, thumbing just under a gray eye and tracing the cheekbone. "At some point I yearned for you so much that I could hardly sleep at night. And when I did, you continued to haunt and tempt me even in my dreams. But I knew I had to wait - keep you at a distance so that I wasn't tempted to immediately tuck you away from prying eyes right in the middle of a café or a mission." 

Akechi drinks the sound of breath hitching in one's throat up, is tempted to bite and breach savory skin to taste blood. “I know you still want me, too. And all you need to go is let go of your old confidants and devote yourself to me." 

A husky chuckle leaves him. "You’re aware of what they do to you, right? Even you must notice how much they exhaust you. Their supposed love and care is a very little compensation considering how much you work for them. That's why _this_ is so immensely satisfying, isn't it? Even though your mind still refuses to clear."

Akira’s orbs are stars falling into the black sea.

It’s hard for Akechi to pull away from their beautiful shimmer, and he hums to fill the silence, whimsically giving Akira a few, soft taps on his lower cheek.

Seeing Akira so obviously conflicted despite his declared love for his friends has Akechi purring on the inside, only strengthening the conviction that they indeed belong together, lead by fate and their own demons.

Akira’s eyes glaze over, resignation and loneliness filling the previous desperation and resentment. Akechi hates how utterly pretty he looks, on the verge of crying despite the lack of tears.

Akira is lost in a world of ignorance when the only thing he wants is to exist without hurting, to have someone by his side that accepts him despite all the odds.

Everyone prior Akechi had been _wrong_ and _unworthy._

“I don’t- I just don’t know what’s right and w-what’s wrong anymore,” Akira finally confesses, trembling. Akechi hides his growing grin by tracing quivering lips. “Everything is so goddamn confusing. _You_ make everything so goddamn confusing.”

Akira's tone is low and barely audible with how loud Akechi' heart is beating inside of his chest. Wetness seeps into Akechi’s gloves, not coming from the snow this time, but rather an excess of endurance faltering, years of exhaustion catching up and on the verge of spilling over.

“There is no universal right or wrong in this world,”, Akechi coos, swiping a single, glistening tear away. “You do not need to concern yourself with that. Simply go inside yourself and _feel_.”

Akechi pulls one hand away to lift Akira’s trembling and unhurt one, putting it against his own cheek and nuzzling into the gratifying cold. He should get him some gloves in the future.

“There’s only _our_ right or wrong. Opinions, experience and law might influence that, but in the end, we decide what we do and what we don’t. What is just and what not.”

This time, nails dig into Akechi's cheeks as Akira lowers his gaze, swallowing dry saliva. “If that is the case... how can you disregard the Phantom Thieves view on justice so easily and think yours superior if it all comes down to subjectivity in the end?”

" _The Phantom Thieves_ here and there,” he hisses, mirroring Akira's earlier actions and relishing in the slight wince that comes out as a result. “You realize it, don’t you? It’s never been we or you.”

The shiver Akechi feels beneath his gloves are delicious. “Isn’t that enough of an answer?”

He looks down on Akira with a stern expression, but softens his grip a bit to lower and grab his chin, forcing Akira to look back into his eyes again.

“I condemn how you _achieved_ such a perspective as a group. Your friends might have had some trouble in life at one point or another, but it all _ceased to be._ Stopped at one point, and they flourished in ugly society, forgot the tremors of their past. It’s nothing compared to what we had to live through. Still do. They complain about sparks when there’s a blazing _hell_ around us both and they continue remaining ignorant, throwing more fuel into the fire.”

From what he gathered, Akira is faced with per-judgment with every steps he takes. Parents abandoning him on a whim, implying they had very little care for him, if some at all.

Sending him off to a far-away school because they couldn’t be bothered with a delinquent.

And knowing Japan, Akira must have been an absolute outsider in class as well, reputation determining his personality even before he had the chance to establish it himself.

LeBlanc’s owner seems nice enough to the customers, but Akechi sees the gruff and rough edges underneath formed by hard experiences, and he knows that the man must have been anything but welcoming when Akira arrived.

People are friendly enough to Akira when not knowing him, but a single slip of his track record and they grow _vicious,_ turn on him like vultures.

Just like Akechi's trusted fans did when Medjed was defeated.

The absolute falseness and hypocrisy of the Phantom Thieves' justice is mind-baffling, and often Akechi wonders how people can still flourish with how blinded and superficial they are all the time.

Society is disgusting, and Akechi asked himself many, many times how Akira didn’t develop a palace himself, especially during the time Akira started to compensate his lack of sleep with galleons of coffee, exhaustion and tiredness clinging like a second layer onto the overworked leader none but Akechi cared about.

When Akira started giving more than he was able to afford, seeing the world lacking around him and thinking he could fix it by stealing from his own-

If that isn’t a seed for a palace, then Akechi doesn’t know what is. By all calculations – Akira Kurusu _should_ have a fucking palace, at least a small one because Akira’s mere concept is too grand to be kept in Mementos.

But there had never been an entry, no hit whenever Akechi gave in and searched the nav for his rival.

Akechi thinks back on white butterflies turning blue, falling dead and reviving.

Maybe…

…

It would explain a lot.

Discontent surges through old wounds when Akechi thinks about how everything could have played out if he just met Akira _earlier_.

Before the Phantom Thieves could have gotten their grubby hands on him, when Akira was mostly untainted, a blank, but sturdy canvas for Akechi to draw upon.

There is no use in dwelling in hypotheticals, so Akechi pulls himself out of his thoughts.

The shimmering light of a weak street lantern goes out in the exact same moment, bathes them both in complete darkness.

Akechi doesn’t need light to see how Akira looks at him. “The Phantom Thieves’ justice is black and white, when in reality it isn’t. That’s a form of naivety, of inexperience that I just cannot accept.

“They call me a rapist simply because I coaxed something out that you’ve kept hidden, something we both wanted. I suppose the method may have seemed dubious enough from the outside, but did you hate it? If you said you were disgusted by my touch, would it be true with how much you lean into it?”

Akira shivers and pulls away, but not enough for Akechi to relent his hold completely.

Akechi feels like the only person alive with how wide Akira's eyes are, and he wishes he could stop the universe, to create a time where only the both of them exist.

“They call me the bad guy, or, god forbid, _evil_ , but they don’t know shit about what I’ve been going through. Still do. All they’re having is _crumbles_ of loose information and yet they write a whole book about it, flaunt it to the public and pretend like it’s the ultimate form of justice, riding on the hands of shallow supporters.”

He says more than he intends to, but Akechi feels his own exhaustion creeping up on him. How tired he is of the world and the blind humans all around them.

“They think I’m doing the wrong thing by kidnapping you. Granted, the method is more... crass than even I’m used to, but they sunk their claws so deep into you already that it didn’t leave me with much of a choice. You want them to acknowledge you, Akira? They already do, but it’s the false kind of acknowledgment. They’re too envious of everything you are, too greedy, so they can’t help but leech onto you.”

Akechi exhales, pinning Akira further down with an acute look. “You’ll never get anywhere if you don’t part yourself from them, not when you bear the weight they should.”

The hand on Akechi’s own cheek is far from warm, but it burns his skin anyway when Akira applies just the slightest pressure back.

“I don’t know,” Akira mumbles, so broken that Akechi wants to bend down, pick up the shards that lay on the floor and thrust it into naïve skin. “You’re right and wrong at the same time, it makes sense but it doesn’t – it’s, it’s just so goddamn confusing. _You_ are confusing, Akechi. I’ve known them for so much longer, but this… us….”

“Feel a lot better, doesn’t it?”, Akechi finishes for him, smiling darkly.

Akira still isn’t what he should be, but even then they fit together unlike anything else Akechi has felt before.

It's natural, perhaps even destined how they met and how both of their supposed fates turned out to be.

Akechi knows he isn’t the only one feeling that way.

“You’ve realized how much better you feel aside from the unnecessary war of emotions and morals taking place inside you. There’s no three different confidants to meet, no different jobs to juggle around, no responsibility to babysit them all day long with their little problems. You finally get enough sleep, the time to hone your skills like you deserve – time with _me."_

His corners lift even more, pleased at how much his own words resonate within him. “It simply feels… right, doesn’t it?”

Akira blinks another tear away, and his voice comes out small and unsure as his eyes avert once more. “...yeah. No. I don’t… know.”

Akechi chuckles. “You don’t need to know just yet, Akira. I’m sure with all the thinking you do, you still don’t get as much rest as I’d prefer. But I will guide you, and all you need to do is let me until you realize that it’s your right to claim what you’ve lost. To embrace and to live.”

A few moments go by that Akechi spends watching snow painting Akira’s black attire white. When he feels the hand on his cheek twitching, he lets Akira retract it without protest, but still mourns the loss of it.

“I just _can’t_ , Akechi," Akira says with a broken finality to his voice.

Well, at least he's not denying Akechi's words.

“An unreasonable answer I had hoped not to receive.”

But he sees it in Akira’s eyes that Akechi spoke of too many things hitting in too many places, and it seems like he won't get more development done for today.

Akechi retracts his own hand, resisting the urge to taste a lone tear on the tip of his glove.

He feels some part of him cry, shatter as he takes a step back, creating more space between them so that they don't share each and every breath anymore.

But there's still a satisfaction blooming in his chest, curling around his limbs that make Akechi feel somewhat lightheaded - Akira is finally starting to grasp onto the bigger, actual picture.

Although Akechi had removed yet another layer, he cannot ignore the circumstances that caused their current situation.

“When we get back,” Akechi starts darkly, suppressing a smirk when Akira visibly gets startled by the change of tone, pressing his back onto the wall again despite the lack of movement from the detective, “You _will_ be punished. I cannot let acts of whimsical defiance go ignored.”

And as much as Akechi wants to see Akira fully detach himself from his infectious bonds and give into Akechi, it’s important that he remembers just who enables him to do so.

###  December 10th, Saturday

He makes Akira fight Robin Hood. The real one, unrestrained, no shackles left on the justice persona. And if he let just a touch of Loki seep into it - well, it’s only for Akechi to know.

There is hesitance in Robin Hood’s stance when it feels Akechi’s intent, but he complies, seeing what lies underneath, and further edged on by the slightest bits of chaos latching onto it.

Akira had partially fought against Robin Hood when Akechi first assessed his strength, but that had barely accounted to anything. This time it would be a direct one on one, Robin Hood taking Akechi's place.

It’s nothing short of brutal.

Akira holds himself pretty well within the first five minutes, dodging Megaton Raids and devastating bow attacks by only a hair length each time - still an admirable achievement considering Robin Hood immediately casted Deliberate in the beginning, weakening attack, defense and agility of his opponent.

Akira tries his best to throw in spells and moves on his own, his Eiga doing a wonderful job at keeping Robin Hood's Kougaons at bay.

But Robin Hood is simply too sturdy, deflecting normal meele attacks with the sheer bulge of his body and using those opportunities to try and hit Megaton Raids at point blank range, forcing Akira to immediately back off instead of advancing since he finds himself unable to dodge such a destructive move at close proximity.

There is a single instance where Akechi thinks he saw Akira’s form _glitching_ , becoming blurry for the shortest of seconds.

Akira manages to dive under a beam-turned Megidola right after that, closing the distance faster than the persona anticipated. In that short time frame he successfully knocks its bow out of its hands with a graceful twist of his legs mid-air, managing to control Arsene just enough to destroy the weapon with a concentrated Eiha.

Upon landing, Akira immediately jumps several feet back to get away from an angry God's Fist driven into the ground he stood on a heartbeat before.

Akechi smirks to himself, satisfied - if it were the old Akira, he would have surely wasted time the attack needed to connect by backflipping instead of just using his feet to get away.

The earlier distortion still lies in the back of his mind, but Akechi concludes it could have been a simple afterimage paired with aftermaths of attacks, judging by the speed the battle is going at. 

But ten minutes into the fight and Akira seems to be reaching the limits of his top performance, moves becoming notably slower and heavier.

Arsene resumes to going back towards its master, focusing on defense rather than offense, but even that couldn't help the continued advances of Robin Hood, the usually collected persona visibly put-off at having his weapon destroyed, a feat no shadow achieved before.

When Robin Hood casts Debilitate on the panting and severely wounded Akira again, it's over.

The persona completely decimates him, managing to land hit after hit.

Summoned, holy arrows rain from the ceiling, weaker without the actual charge of a bow, but still powerful enough to give the cracked and crater-littered ground the finishing touches of a proper battlefield.

Kougaon mixed with Megidolaon give Akira the rest once he's pinned to the ground, and the spells swallow the loudest and highest cry until now in a flash of white, briefly encompassing everything in the destroyed dance room. 

Robin Hood retreats back to Akechi once the white vanishes and the ringing in his ears subdues.

The persona's pride seems to have slightly suffered with the lack of a bow and most of the cape destroyed, parts of the uniform burned and slashed away to reveal the occasional flesh wound and bruise.

It still remains upright and tall, bowing towards Akechi with a wide, gracious arch of his back. Arsene, along with Akira's mask is nowhere to be found as well, completely retreated inside of AKira's heart.

Robin Hood lets its discontent known when it settles back inside Akechi, mildly impressed with Akira's performance against it, but also irritated that its bow and outfit has suffered. 

_You'll get over it,_ Akechi amusedly thinks. _It'll regenerate the next time I summon you anyway._

If Akechi wouldn't know better, he'd assume Robin Hood is almost pouting at hearing that. It quickly lets another rush of impressions and feelings drip into Akechi's conscious, the most prominent being its resent towards the brutality its master wanted it to use against Akira.

Akechi is quick to assure Robin Hood that the violent part is over, and that he'd now take proper care of his thief.

Akechi smiles, walks to the beaten pulp that is Akira and kneels down.

Burned and charred and perforated in regions Arsene didn't manage to block the last shower of arrows, Akira makes a near ethereal sight that has Akechi's hand twitching with want.

He grips an almost unrecognizable face and pulls it upwards, earning a strangled, barely audible sound of misery. Akechi slides his mask to the side to get his own face free.

There is no resistance from Akira when his tongue slips inside his mouth, blood overwhelming Akechi's senses, the information that one or two teeth are missing only passively registered.

Akechi sighs when he pulls back, watching a string of blood connecting two differently kinds of bruised lips. It hurts only the slightest bit, seeing Akira on the brink of death, but the fact that _his_ persona inflicted the pain and injuries that currently render Akira useless soothes the lone part of his conscience that feels guilty.

It also serves to make the other, more sadistic side of him flare up, but that had already been sated enough by watching the battle unfold. 

Akechi allows a short grimace to slip on his face when he feels himself hardening.

He barely squashes the waves of arousal back where they came from when looking down on the male on the floor once again, distracts himself by lifting Akira’s head up by his hair instead.

It must be painful, even the motion of getting his hair pulled amplified by thousands of sensations that throb and numb everything at the same time, but Akira needs to learn that the instinct telling him to obey Akechi is there for a reason.

That Akira just doesn't do it out of concern for his life, but rather because Akechi is the only person in the entire world to have the privilege of touching and commanding him.

“Do not try something like this again,” he whispers against bloody lips, watching barely visible eyes underneath swollen, bruised eyelids shake with fearful submission.

“Next time, I’ll let Loki loose. So please do behave, would you? It's a lot more vicious and unpredictable than Robin Hood - even I have a hard time controlling that one once it's out.”

Akechi unceremoniously drops the head back. Akira looks like he’ll pass out in any second, and Akechi smirks to himself.

Well, he can't really have that now, can he? “I'll punish you a second time if you loose consciousness on me.”

Akechi lets the pixie draw more strength than usual from him as he starts casting healing spells, and he bends down again to heave Akira up, walking towards their rooms and letting his cognitive influence take care of the state in his dance room.

A quick look down confirms that Akira is hanging to the last strands of consciousness, arms uselessly swaying underneath his body with each step Akechi takes. His eyes are barely open but fighting against the instinct to close them, and Akechi resists the urge to touch his face again.

Him loosing against his persona would once again make it clear that Akechi is still far superior in every aspect. 

Akira may be showing rapid developments, and while he's already so much better than all of the Phantom Thieves combined (who Akechi knows have been training and trying to clear his palace again) and tearing through Shido's shadows with only minor struggles, it's still nothing compared to _him._

Yet another proof that Akechi has the upper hand, a reminder of Akira's place and that stepping out of line meant a whole world of pain that could just so easily be replaced by pleasure if Akira would just _obey._

Like he does right now. Akira is tantalizingly helpless in his arms, a stark contrast to the demonstration of power and resilience he showcased just a few hours ago.

But in this moment the proud thief is reduced to a state so weak that he's unable to do more than incoherent mumbles of protests when Akechi begins to strip him off his remaining clothing once they arrive at the bathroom.

He leans Akira against the bathtub on the spacious floor and steadies his own breathing. Akechi pulls off his gloves first, probably biting a bit too hard into the material to ground himself.

Meticulously Akechi peels off Akira's clothing that is mostly reduced to bits of black leather and gray stripes. Some still cling adamantly to Akira's skin due to being sleek with blood, the only remnant of the wounds that penetrated skin beyond the first layers.

Akira’s eyes are closed, but Akechi knows he’s neither asleep nor unconscious, the light hue of pink on his cheeks indicating aware embarrassment over the current situation.

Once the rest of the pants are away, Akechi chuckles when Akira’s spread legs tremble, weakly trying to pull together to deny a view Akechi has already seen.

“I’ve noticed the first time already,” he mumbles as he scoops Akira up again, slowly letting him into the warm water of the bathtub his cognition provides. “But just what does it say about you when your Metaverse outfit contains no underwear?”

Said male makes a noise between a hiss and a moan when he’s fully seated, sending more heat through Akechi's abdomen at the involuntary noise.

“N-none of your business," Akira weakly stutters, gripping the rim of the bathtub like a lifeline.

Oh, so he has regained enough energy to let out proper words. Akechi smirks as he starts to unbutton his own shirt. “It is.”

Quickly stripping himself off the rest of his clothing, Akechi settles behind Akira, sighing wistfully when a different, more natural heat swaps over his skin.

It’s been a long time since Akechi allowed himself the pleasure of taking a bath instead of just a shower.

Even when he cleaned Akira during the time he was too exhausted to do it by himself (just like now), Akechi usually made quick work of the sweat and blood with a shower, never indulging himself past being able to touch the other's body for the mere purpose of cleaning him.

But not today – today Akechi'd let himself have this, as a reward for his own patience, but also to sooth Akira's fragility that comes with being shown his place once again.

Akechi pulls him between his legs, and the thief gasps lightly as his backside slots against Akechi’s front, but not having enough strength to detach himself.

Akira tenses, probably due to the half-hard erection Akechi makes no effort of hiding. 

It's pressing against Akira’s backside with the position they’re in, but Akechi makes no other move than leaning closer to nibble on an ear.

“Relax,” Akechi says between light bites, “I'll... behave.”

To prove a point, he slides back against the end of the bathtub, watching the remnants of a shudder running down Akira’s back.

The thief sends him a quick look over his shoulder, as if not believing Akechi’s words. Akechi offers an amused smirk in return as he props his chin on his hand, tilting his head and waiting for the other to speak.

“I think our definition on that vastly... differs,” Akira finally says, averting his gaze to look forward.

“Oh, does it?”

Akira looks so small like this, curled in between his legs, clearly uncomfortable with the position, yet slowly starting to melt with how the heat seeps into tired bones, water slowly working away the grime and blood where it’s able to reach.

Akechi moves his free hand towards Akira’s right shoulder, giving a soft, but telling squeeze. Akira doesn’t move though, and Akechi sighs, applying more pressure.

A yelp later and Akechi finally has Akira fully leaning back against him.

Before the other could seize undiscovered sources of strength left, Akechi lifts his head from his hand and winds both arms around Akira’s mid-section, keeping him trapped.

Not that Akira can do much, with the state he is in.

“Akechi-”, Akira whines more than says, incredulous and fuming. It's a rather endearing sight. “What-what are you doing?”

Well, he doesn’t tell him to _stop._

“If you sound like that, I’m afraid you can't hold me at fault for wanting to do plenty of other things,” Akechi purrs, and laughs when Akira instantly stills.

Akechi isn't tall enough to comfortably slot Akira’s head under his chin (an image that still sends delicious sensations through his body), but he’s still able to rest his head comfortably against Akira’s, a perfect height to bury his nose in wild, ebony locks that are damp with heat and smell of flowers stained with blood.

It seems like Akira wants to say something, but the way some more tension leaves him as soon as the water continues to alleviate his exhaustion, it’s clear that he’s given up on doing that for now, choosing to make most out of the moment.

And Akechi holds his words.

He spends the first ten minutes of the bath simply enjoying the other’s presence, a constant reminder that this is not some delusional dream, but reality.

Akechi's arm encasing a slender, but strong body is the physical proof of his success, and he inwardly purrs whenever Akira adjusts, involuntarily forcing skin to rub against skin each time that happens.

Having the very object of his desire right in front of him, trapped with limbs and feelings and a different reality, Akechi is staggeringly weak to his own desires.

He can’t help his wandering hands at times, but they’re mostly limited to soft strokes against a corded abdomen, tracing lines of muscle.

A velvet chuckles leaves Akechi whenever Akira’s stomach tenses and softens if Akechi's fingers slide over a particularly sensitive part.

Akechi has never… done anything like this before. The concept of holding someone so close, simply basking in their presence is foreign to him due to the lack of a significant, _worthy_ other by his side.

But he’s quickly growing fond of the warm, buzzing feelings mixing with the more physical relish of a hot bath.

At some point Akechi is practically sagging against the bathroom tub, keeping a leisure hold around Akira who seems to be just as prone to the feeling as him, barely protesting when Akechi shortly adjusts them both into a more comfortable position.

Right now, he doesn’t need to worry about anything, simply focusing on how Akira feels against him.

Akechi knows he’s bitter, vengeful and all sorts of cold, and it all combines into a side prone to enjoying the suffering of other people, especially when it’s induced by him.

Akira is no exception from that - perhaps his favorite person to watch cry and bleed because he makes it seem like art beyond anyone's reach.

But he’s also the person Akechi would tear down hell's gate for, if only just to walk through it together afterwards.

And when Akechi has gotten some of his aggression and frustration out of his system, such as in punishing Akira for his insolent actions earlier – it leaves place for deeper-rooted feelings, a passion and rawness Akechi doesn’t always have control over.

Akechi prides himself over such self-control in all sorts of things, but he finds that he doesn’t mind losing that a little when it’s with Akira, just like when he relinquishes it when Loki envelopes his senses and makes thinking just so much easier and less complicated.

Right now, Akira really does feel like _his_ in every sense of the word, slotting against him so perfectly.

Akechi is aware of the circumstances leading to the bath, but he knows Akira would have protested a lot more if he would have done something like this in the early stages of their new dynamic.

It's absurdly satisfying, knowing he’s slowly, but successfully chipping layer after layer around Akira’s heart away, uncovering doubts and parasites for him to exterminate.

And rewarding his body after punishing him would just encourage the direction Akechi desires.

Akechi straightens and makes Akira sit up as well. The other gives a confused noise that sounds rather sleepy, and a quick turn of Akira’s head confirms that the other seemed to have dozed off a bit.

Akechi’s heart squeezes with how easily the other succumbed to such a vulnerable state yet again around Akechi, and a small smile tugs at Akechi’s lips as he reaches behind him for the various bottles lining up on an extended surface. 

“What.... hmm, what are you doing?,” Akira groggily mumbles.

“You still have a lot of blood in your hair and shoulders,” Akechi murmurs in a rare, gentle tone that sounds foreign even in his own ears.

He squeezes a generous amount of shampoo in his hand when he finds the right bottle. “I did say I was not going to do anything bad, didn't I?”

Akira is still looking at him with a half-lidded, dazed expression, and Akechi chuckles as he turns Akira's chin back forward to work the shampoo into his hair.

“Why-”

Akira breaks off, voice cracking when Akechi starts to massage the shampoo into his hair. A blissful sigh leaves the other lips, and Akechi starts to press his fingers just a bit tighter through the locks and into his skin, moving them in generous, circular motions.

“Why are you- doing this?”

“You’re unable to clean yourself, so I will do that for you. I'm sure you can recall me doing that several times already.”

“But not like... this." Akechi can just about make out arms curling around a chest. "I’ve-”

Akira is trying his best not to give into the blissful feeling of having his head massaged and hair washed, but with how beaten his body is, it proves to be an undeniable impossible task that apparently even takes away his ability to finish longer sentences.

What a precious sight.

“You’ve what, Akira?”

Akechi moves his hands a bit lower, now scratching against a scalp. The brief sound that leaves Akira’s lips at that is nothing short of sinful, and Akechi bites his lips to not get too distracted.

“I’ve- tried running away. And yet you’re here, even- bathing me.”

“I do hope you’ve not forgotten what happened before that,” Akechi coyly says.

He knows Akira won't escape for quite some time, having re-experienced yet again the level of power between them.

Akechi could just break him so _easily_ without trying to much. It is a rather tempting thought at times, but he needs Akira conscious of his actions, not reduced to a mere doll.

He hums low in his throat. “But the care after a punishment is just as important. It shows that you really care, and I take pride in what is mine.”

“...kind of hard to believe at times.”

Akechi raises an eyebrow. “Still hanging onto such a groundless thought? Well, I'll just have to try harder then.”

Entangling his fingers from the now partially snowy (streaked with red) strands of black, Akechi dips them into the water to clear them of shampoo, and gets another bottle for the body.

“The water is as clean and hot as in the beginning,” Akira mumbles, half-fascinated, half-drowsy as his hand sluggishly moves the crystal-clear water around.

“It’s my cognition after all,” Akechi responds, rubbing his hands to spread the foam. “It's rather interesting how cognitive food doesn’t sustain the body, but things such as showering and bathing is possible, don't you think?”

Akira makes a noncommittal sound as he unconsciously leans closer towards Akechi, body mourning the loss of hands in his hair.

In his position, Akira can't see the wicked glint in Akechi’s eyes. He visibly jumps when two hands lay heavy on his shoulder, slowly starting to knead the muscle.

“Relax,” Akechi coos into an ear, mirthful chuckle crawling up his throat when Akira does the exact opposite, tensing and struggling to get away.

Akechi presses down harder, and he must have hit a deep knot inside the other’s shoulder, seeing as Akira makes a pained yelp, but also helplessly sags back against him the same instance it's over, so much that Akechi has to straighten the other’s upper body again so he could access it.

“As much as I love you having pliant against me, I do need you sitting up so I can properly wash you.”

Akira scoots the tiniest amount away out of spite, but not nearly enough for Akechi’s hands to not be able to reach the other’s body.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Akira weakly warns him, and Akechi resists to tell him how delectable he sounds instead of the threatening tone Akira no doubly wanted to achieve.

Akechi opts to just stay silent, and he continues to knead the tense muscle under his hands, soon moving towards a wound-up back with more languid strokes and touches.

He explores the skin with a care he hadn’t been able to before, when he had been too caught up in the rapturous feeling of need and want to see Akira writhing beneath him the first time he got his hands on him.

It’s warm, soft and tight at the same time, regularly switching between tensing up and melting beneath Akechi’s hands. It feels wonderful, pressing his palms into wide planes of skin, his alone to explore and map out and memorize and shape.

But Akechi also doesn’t neglect the actual purpose of the bath, rubbing away dried blood whenever he finds it, watching the foam get dark and white again as he moves to different sections.

Akira makes a throaty noise when Akechi arrives at his front, hands dangerously close to his chest. Chuckling, Akechi just needs a push to slot Akira back against him.

“Your back is done. Nothing speaks against this now.”

**\- ! ! ! -**

The water sloshes slightly when Akira’s hands move up to cover his face, and Akechi clicks his tongue, grabs Akira’s wrist to pull it down the second he realizes Akira tries to hide his growing blush.

“Do not hide,” Akechi mumbles into an ear. “Not from me.”

He nudges Akira’s head with his own, and almost out of instinct Akira responds by angling his face slightly towards him, a wary, but also questioning look in half-lidded, muddy eyes.

Feeling his self-control slip a little at the unintentional display of innocence, Akechi dives in to capture pink lips, eating up a muffled gasp that follows.

Akechi is not being particularly rough, but he’s not gentle either, parting Akira’s mouth after a few seconds of molding their lips together.

He spends a minute reducing Akira to a quivering mess within his tongue only, and then resumes to move his hands, scraping at Akira’s chest and occasionally brushing a nipple, an action that has the male between his legs shivering from small, but insistent sparks of pleasure.

Akechi licks his lips at the debauched expression that greets him when he pulls back, Akira’s mouth open and panting, pupils blown to a larger size.

Letting one hand continue to play with a now stiffened bud, Akechi dips the other into water, letting some of it slosh against a part of Akira’s shoulder to clean it.

When it’s wet and free of foam, Akechi tilts Akira’s head sideways to dip down. He gently laps at a sharp collarbone, and huskily laughs at the stuttered moan Akira gives when he bites down and squeezes a nipple at the same time.

More alluring sounds escape Akira, even though it's clear that he tries his best to stifle them.

“Such tempting sounds you make,” Akechi mumbles against wet skin. “So many things you make me want to do.”

“S-shut up,” Akira presses out, but his words lose any bite with how much he’s _moving_ against Akechi, trying to get away and closer at the same time, a perfect presentation of his entire state of mind.

“I won’t. Not when you’re like this.”

Smirking, Akechi starts to bite other places of unblemished skin, intend on marking the other up so much that the bruises won't fade for days unless specifically treated.

He hisses when Akira moves just right against his erection, and is vaguely amused when the other freezes in his hold, no doubt having felt it against his backside.

“Here I was, intending to give you a simple bath, yet you’re the one moving against me quite salaciously.”

Akira growls, but the redness on his face reduces the sounds to a kitten's mewl.

"You started it," he pants, grabbing onto the rim for purchase when Akechi grinds particularly hard. "F-fucking perverted bastard."

"Didn't you tell me earlier that you were _disappointed_ whenever I tried holding back? To not completely ravish you in front of everyone else, in the middle of dear Sakura-san's café where everybody could walk in and see what an obedient, pretty thing you are for me?"

Akira tries to retract himself yet with a sudden, newfound strength, but that source quickly diminishes again when Akechi leaves another set of teeth marks just under his chin, biting down harder than before.

He lets his hand resume the task of caressing swollen nipples, alternating between rubbing, squeezing and pulling them, intending to make them a lot more sensitive than they originally were.

Akira hisses when Akechi tugs particularly sharp, even going so far as to arch his back a little when Akechi adds just a little more pressure.

The action has Akechi rutting against a soft, little ass in a sudden spike of heat and want at the sinful picture Akira displays.

“If you’re so- ah, eager, then you really can’t fault me for wanting to do all these things to you, Akira," Akechi growls.

Said male whines low in his throat, mouth opening again, no doubt to try resist him verbally when his body can't.

But Akechi doesn't allow it.

He swallows any form of protest with his own mouth, and moves his left hand lower and lower, grazing over a quivering abdomen to encircle a rather prominent erection.

“Your body speaks honestly,” Akechi mumbles into a panting mouth as soon as he lets the other breathe, watching as Akira’s eyes try to focus and defocus at the same time. “Let yourself go. There is no harm in succumbing to these feelings - I will take care of you.”

Shameful guilt and reluctance is painfully obvious in Akira’s expression as Akechi pulls back, but at least his useless struggling ceases, body movements reduced to random jerks of his body whenever Akechi thumbs the tip of Akira’s cock, slightly pressing into the slit.

Pre-cum is already oozing out of it, immediately lost into the water.

Akechi prefers to directly feel Akira on him, raw and without the barrier of water making everything get an unusual texture, but he has taken a liking to the sheer amount of control he has over Akira in this position, and he won't relinquish it just now by getting out of the water. 

When Akechi begins to stroke Akira's length up and down, squeezing more when he gets towards the top, Akira lets out the first, real moan, immediately biting his lips to suppress a second one.

“Don’t,” Akechi hisses, a splash of anger only sharpening his arousal.

He squeezes an abused nipple for the last time, and moves his right hand down, even lower than the other, coming to a halt at Akira's perineum.

Akechi scrapes at the sensitive flesh, smirking in satisfaction at the mewls he gets. “You may hide from everyone else if you want to, but not from me. Only I get to touch you like this."

Probing a finger at a twitching entrance, Akechi briefly loses grip as Akira’s legs twitch uncontrollably, nearly bruising Akechi's own legs at the side.

Akira closes them immediately after, trapping both of Akechi's hands.

Clicking his tongue, Akechi moves his feet around Akira’s ankles and tugs outwards, effortlessly spreading him again and making Akira let out an abashed, measly cry.

Akechi devours the other’s lips, intend on swallowing every other drop of feeble protest that could follow.

His middle finger goes inside Akira with little resistance due to the effects of the water, and he immediately begins searching for the spot that would surely serve to make Akira trash in his hold even more, forcing him to hold onto the person that ruins him at the same time.

"What a compelling sight you make."

Akechi continues rutting against Akira’s ass, and he could care less that he’s acting like depraved person thirsty for touch. Not when he’s forced to detach his mouth because Akira throws his head back so beautifully as soon as fingertips brush against a particularly sensitive spot inside Akira's hole.

“Found it,” he purrs against the offered expanse of a throat, nosing at the already formed marks. He laps at the quivering skin, and sucks yet another row of bruises upwards.

“A-Akechi,” Akira helplessly whimpers, one hand flying to his mouth to try and stifle another gasp, the other blindly grabbing for purchase, finding it on Akechi's thigh where he digs his fingers into it. 

The touch in combination with the articulation of his name sends a wave of heat through the detective, and Akechi growls low in his throat.

The sound makes Akira squirm even more, so much that Akechi squeezes around the base of the other’s length as a warning.

“Behave," he languidly murmurs, biting once, twice into the lobe of an ear. "Or I might just change my mind and you won't get to cum."

Predictably Akira's squirming ceases, just enough so that Akechi can resume his motions once he adjusted both of their positions.

He cups the top of Akira's cock with his hand and moves it circular motions, all while inserting a second finger inside the hole, immediately scissoring upon breaching the tight ring of muscle.

Akechi hungrily laps up the broken moans that he elicits out of Akira. His own length is embarrassingly hard, entire body and mind getting off to Akira falling apart in his very arms.

He feels the slow building of an orgasm stirring up his insides and cutting through the heated fog with a rawness that make his ministrations more sloppy, but also faster, consistently hitting Akira’s prostrate with jabbing motions.

A lot of the water is already gone from the tub, having sloshed over the rim with how much Akira trembles and whines.

It’s a ridiculous minor price to pay to get to see Akira like this, eyes half-lidded and focused on him, portraying so many emotions that scream defiance, but helpless against the lust and pleasure taking over his mind.

Akechi groans when Akira sub-consciously starts to meeting his shallow thrusts again, occasionally even gyrating his hips in his half-position on Akechi's lap.

He's utterly lost in the sensations that draw keening moans and stuttered breaths of Akechi’s name from him. Akechi groans in response, resting his forehead against the marks he already painted to concentrate on bringing Akira over the edge first.

Not able to hold back much longer, Akechi lifts his head up and moves to hover over Akira’s sensual face again, tugging at a lower lip. He stares into Akira's eyes, meeting burning heat with equal passion.

“Cum,” Akechi huskily orders, and bites down.

Akira lets out he loudest and highest moan, head jerking, but unable to throw back due to Akechi’s teeth holding him in place.

Akira shudders instead, wave over wave of pleasure rolling over him, making him quiver and pant, and shaking hands move towards him-

Weak strands of cum hit Akechi’s hand, slowly dissolving in the water. While Akira’s body rides out the high of a vigorous orgasm, Akechi pulls his finger out, pumping himself to follow into the abyss, tip grazing along Akira’s lower back with each stroke.

Akechi is so damn close, heat and arousal and the feeling of Akira coiling so tight in his stomach that he's unable to intake another breath.

And then there's a weak stutter of his name, a sharp sensation of his hair being pulled, and his climax seizes Akechi with such a force that he has to relinquish his hold on Akira, slumping against the bathtub as he continues to prolong the feeling of ecstasy encasing his limbs in an entirely different feeling of warmth.

**\- ! ! ! -**

Eyes closed, he feels boneless like this. Free and floating for a few seconds in some random, distant location where a time only for him and Akira exists.

For a brief second he fears that if he comes to his senses and opens his eyes, it would be another cruel fantasy his mind plays him.

But when he gives in, Akira is still as real as before him, looking dazed and possibly even more exhausted than before.

Akechi vaguely becomes aware of the hand still gripping his hair, weakly holding onto it.

The arm falls down a while later, Akira clearly to spent to afford holding it up at such an angle. The heat stays in Akechi's lower belly, but also expands to his heart, encasing it in a vice-like grip.

“You,” Akira weakly begins, and Akechi has to strain his ear to pick up the barely coherent words. “You’re going to be… the death of me.”

Akechi just chuckles, takes in the colorful constellation of marks spreading over the left column of Akira’s throat and neck.

He's half tempted to coax Akira into a second orgasm with how prettily the blush sits on Akira's cheeks, but he feels completely sated for now, and he's sure that Akira would fall unconscious halfway through another round.

And Akechi knows he shouldn’t spent yet another night in his palace to not feel too much discord when he’s away for more than one day and avoid unseen scenarios his mind likes to plague him with, but it’s a hard thing to do once Akechi properly washes themselves again, Akira half-asleep by the time Akechi dresses him in some clothes that had laid in the closet since almost the beginning.

It’s even harder when he sees Akira utterly melting into his bed once he puts him down on it, the sheets nearly not as soft as the free, blissful expression on Akira’s face.

So Akechi joins him under the covers, hands searching and finding, and buries his face into hair that smells of forgotten, trickled away dreams slowly coming back to life.

* * *

Morgana and Haru had shared a message to the group chat just after that incident, briefly summarizing their accidental trip to the Metaverse. They couldn’t meet up Friday after school due to various schedules colliding, but each found time on Saturday.

The Phantom Thieves trail in one after another, and Morgana doesn’t protest when Haru scoops him up to press him against her chest similarly like one would pick up a stuffed animal.

He simply makes a discontent noise before starting to go into more details once everyone affirms that they're ready.

“And you’re sure it was Akira?”

Yusuke is the first to comment after Morgana summarized their brief encounter, hunched over a sketch he’d been working on since he arrived a bit earlier than others.

He had abandoned the task as soon as the last person walked in, but if one were to look over his shoulder, they’d see the paper mostly empty.

“Yes. We couldn’t see his face and he wasn’t in his Joker getup, but he had his same evening outfit on, and his hair was pretty hard to miss."

“Akechi-san was standing pretty close to him as well,” Haru adds softly.

“That might just confirm it,” Makoto says.

She is leaning against the counter, eyebrows slightly drawn together as if to try and make out invisible patterns on the floor.

“The only one able to stand in close proximity to Akechi without making him want to bolt is Akira.”

Her eyes narrow after that, contemplating a string of thoughts that looks too far-away and absent for the others to comment on.

“Do you think Ryuji-kun is in there, too?”

Yusuke holds up a hand. “Wait. Before we discuss anything more, could we perhaps establish what exactly ‘in there’ entails? So far we’ve only focused on Akira and Akechi themselves.”

“It was a ship,” Haru confesses, looking down at Morgana. He makes and affirmative noise. “Yup,” he adds, and some eyebrows rise.

“A ship? That’s new.” Ann stares at her manicured nails, lost in thoughts. “But we’ve already been in a space station and a pyramid, so it's not like it's super surprising.”

“In _space_ _?_ ”, Sojiro’s voice suddenly exclaims, expression perplexed before settling into tired defeat just as quickly.

The aroma of home-made curry is already curling inside of the café, but Sojiro still needs another ten minutes before he can feed all the gloomy, but hungry stomachs.

“I knew about the pyramid, but a space station? Jeez.” He scratches his head. “I guess I shouldn’t be too surprised after all you’ve said.”

“And a castle, a flying bank, and a casino,” Futaba piques up. “Speaking of casino – will your sister come, Makoto?”

The girl in question looks at Futaba for a second before she nods. “Yeah, but not right now. Still needs to wrap up some things in the office.”

“But it’s Saturday!”

A pointed, unimpressed stare. “...and it's my sister.”

“Well, alright,” Futaba quickly concedes.

She then gestures back towards Morgana. “So, a ship. And from what you said before the Diet building is directly on it, correct? Like, the main building of some sorts.”

“The _only_ building, really. The weather was super eerie as well – reminded me of some apocalyptic setting. Like a sunset, I think, just more...”

“...destructive?”, Haru helpfully supplies, wincing slightly at her own wording.

But Morgana nods regardless, eyes as serious as a cat’s could be. “A destructive, foreboding sunset. Fits. Naturally there was a lot of damn water too, as far as we could see. A whole dark, murky ocean, really! A lot of buildings too, but only the super high ones were peaking out of the water.”

“So the rest have either sunken or have been completely swept away,” Yusuke muses, eying his paper. “It certainly paints an aesthetic, but gruesome picture. I can’t help but want to see it with my own eyes now.”

“We need to know whose palace that is,” Makoto says before Yusuke can break out in his usual, artistic monologue whenever he finds something worthy enough to rake his brain about.

“With the location it’s at, I’d assume it’s a politician.”

“A corrupt one, then?”

“It’s certainly the most likely possibility, given the position.”

“But how do we single a person out?,” Ann says. “There are a lot of people in the Diet building, and some we won’t ever really have access to. Even sneaking Mona in would prove to be a hard task.”

“No. I think it will be quite easy to narrow it down, actually.”

Ann turns to look at Makoto like she just grew two heads. “Pardon? Ok, well, please evaluate that. I don’t know how we can single out the person who has the palace in such a large building.”

“Haru, Morgana, can you remember how you felt during the short time you were inside of the person’s palace?”

Both look taken back by the question, but Haru finally unwinds her arms around the cat to put one hand to her chin.

“Oppressing. I wouldn’t quite say the experience we had in A-Akechi-san’s palace, but still very sinister.”

Now on the table yet again, Morgana turns a few times and settles on his behind, looking expectantly at Makoto. “I agree. Akechi’s has a... weird aura to it, but the ship is totally unnerving in another sense. I admit that I felt kind of powerless, even after we've become a lot stronger. It was such a huge thing, and we were just so small-”

“-And throw in the fact that you were on waters where half of the city is flooded to the horizon: We might be dealing with a big shot politician.”

Ann scrunches her nose, clearly not following. “How so?”

“Think about it,” Makoto says, almost excitedly now at sharing her rapid conclusions.

“Smaller, corrupt politicians are usually in Mementos. We’ve found a few and changed their hearts, didn’t we? Small fish are content with what they have and aren’t able to think beyond the pond. For this one’s distortion to be so enormous, affecting so much - they must be someone quite big.”

“So we’re dealing with a shark that feeds on others,” the artist of the group muses.

Futaba shoots Yusuke a thumbs up.

“Exactly. A boss monster stuck in a pond of unimportant NPCs that wants to get to the big ocean, but can’t in the current situation, so he’s stuck with us.”

“Us?”

“Yeah.” Makoto points to herself and towards the rest of the group. “We’re the small fish who are little more than a snack to him. We’re insignificant, not threat, but the shark is for us.”

"A mere stepping stone then, huh?"

“The owner of the palace thinks themselves superior to others,” Morgana slowly says, but gets faster towards the end as he finally gets what Makoto is saying. His eyes lit up. “That makes sense! With all the sunken buildings around the ship and, well, the ship being the only building intact it’s safe to say that they do not care for any other than themselves and the people that power the engine.”

“And the sheer extent of it,” Makoto adds. She looks at Haru. “You said you were moving at a pretty fast space, and the scenery never changed. It’s clear that the scope of that person’s palace isn’t just the surroundings. It appears to be a really big and heavy distortion, so naturally it must be someone very important if he’s able to view his surroundings like that.”

“Don’t tell me it’s the entire city? Kaneshiro was already crazy with Shibuya.”

“Probably even worse,” Makoto grimly says. Several faces around her contort in a mixture of sourness and unbelief. “Remember how far you said the ocean stretched out.”

Sojiro breaks some of the thick tension by putting the first plates of curry on the counter, preparing more behind it since he can only carry so much at the time.

“Aren’t elections going on at the moment? Maybe you can find your culprit there.” He points to the TV, but the news broadcast apparently just ended, and a commercial about a new clothing shop in Kichijoji starts to play, advertising a series of coats and scarfs.

Futaba suddenly claps her hands once, startling everyone else and making Yusuke drop his spoon.

“Wait. Isn’t one representative of the Diet building running for prime minister?”

“Do you mean Masayoshi Shido? His face is all over the media,” Ann mumbles, watching with a sympathetic expression how Yusuke critically eyes the orange stains in his dress-shirt as he bends down to pick up the dropped utensil.

“I do recall the name,” Yusuke says. “Is it perhaps the man without hair? I do not make use of media that frequently, but it’s hard to forget such an appalling baldness on his head.”

“Figures you’d remember _that,_ ” Ann mutters under her breath.

But Futaba is bouncing up and down in her corner, earning displeased grunts from Sojiro that promptly go ignored.

“But that would make sense! He’s running for president like no one else at the moment! And every charity project or interview session or another opportunity to flaunt his face that isn’t on a tree by three gets completely taken over by him.”

“But he seems perfectly reasonable,” Ann argues. She rubs the space between her eyes. “I mean, sure, he talks pretty big about a new world and all and he goes against us as well, but it’s not like he's the only person who does that. It just seems like he has a genuine interest in making Japan better.”

“That’s precisely why! Don’t you get it?” If Futaba would have sit next to Ann, she’s sure the energetic girl would have shaken her back and forth. “I mean, it’s not the same setting but – who does that remind you off?”

Slowly starting to connect the dots, Ann stops the portion of curry halfway to her mouth. “You don’t think…?”

“Yes! It’s just like with Akechi! _Oooh_ , this just makes so much sense!”

“Not even I’m following right now,” Makoto mumbles into her curry.

“Guys! What he’s doing is an act! Just like with Akechi, he deceives the public by making appearances everywhere, keeping up a good façade of an earnest politican. No man can be that happy and rightful all the time. There _has_ to be different intentions within Shido. Oh, I just _knew_ there was something wrong every time I watched his stupid face go live…"

Yusuke nods. “And let’s not to forget he’s been using our leader’s supposed death for a suspicious amount of propaganda. Seems a bit to convenient to me that he’s practically jumping onto the... hype train."

Futaba sends him another, proud look at his choice of words.

“You think he’s the person Akechi talked with on his phone? His employer?”

“We can’t be sure since he never dropped a name,” Makoto responds to that. “But it might be a possibility, given how both of their positions enable them to have a lot of influence. Shido does use the fall of the Phantom Thieves quite a bit to promote himself, as if he either waited or knew what was going to happen.”

“But going back… if he really is the owner of the palace, that would suggest...” Haru trails off, clearly uncomfortable with ending the sentence.

Makoto takes over for her, expression turning more grim than it already is. “That would suggest that at least whole Japan is his location.”

“It’s hard to believe,” Morgana slowly says, “but it makes… sense at the same time, him running for prime minister. Seeing as he’s one of the only major figure in the Diet building, it would align with your theory earlier as well.”

And holds up a hand. “So the ship represents his actual desires? Of gaining control over the country, or perhaps just letting his own fraction flourish and completely disregarding the others during that process? Man, what an awful and delusional person.”

“Yeah, something along those lines! I _know_ I’m right! Ahh, my fingers are itching-” Futaba pulls out her phone, expression suddenly serious as she speaks the next words.

“Masayoshi Shido.”

‘ _Target found.’_

“Seems like we’ve got a candidate,” Yusuke says. He still seems rather transfixed on the orange stains, spoon long forgotten on the floor.

Ann sighs, and sees Makoto pinching the bridge of her nose at Yusuke’s antics.

“Well,” Morgana speaks up. “We know who the ship belongs to now most likely, and I’m pretty sure we know the other keywords as well. That just leaves one question.”

Makoto folds her hands underneath her chin, critically looking into the round. “What is Akechi’s relation with him?”

“Before we discuss that,” Sojiro suddenly speaks up from where he had passively listened in on their discussion, “I have one or two cents of mine to throw into the whole Shido thing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _regarding the context: I added some more moves to Akechi's and Akira's persona that would simply make sense. I think anybody who has a fist would be able to learn God's Hand, and so on. They weren't necessarily learned through skill cards, but then again, would it matter if they were?_
> 
> _Akechi contradicts himself regularly. If some lines give you the impression he's a bit of a hypocrite: fully intentional! He has a very subjective view on everything despite priding himself over being analytical and objective, so the things he says might not actually apply. But that's a POV for you, isn't it? I just wanted to point that out again in case somebody got confused._
> 
> _And I really, REALLY hope Akira slowly starting to give into Akechi makes sense, oof. That's like my biggest worry. A lot of bigger points towards Akira's development will come towards the end. Maybe I should have reversed that... I hope it still makes a little bit of sense. If it doesn't, I hope you're kind enough to just go with the flow T-T._
> 
> _Also, I kept referring to personas as 'him' or 'her' at some point, but changed that to 'it'. Yet I still think Loki, Arsene and RH all have a dick. Does that make sense??? Well, I'll change it someday. Maybe._
> 
> _There's actually a 'spoiler' / foreshadowing for one chapter coming much later (there have been a lot of that already tbh but idk if they were super obvious or super hidden or a mix of both. This one rly is subtle though). It's in one sentence and most of you will probably have overlooked it, but if you people can still manage to find it once the corresponding chapter is out (which is probably my fav one so far!)... well, damn, what perceptiveness you have :D_
> 
> ***crawls out of smut hole***
> 
> Anyway, you guys are so wonderful with the comments you leave me! I'm always so damn happy whenever I get one, no matter how small! You don't know how much they motivate me to post all this stuff, so let me tell you once again: Thank you so much! For every comment, subscribe, bookmark and kudos. 
> 
> I really hope the smut was acceptable, even if it's much fluffier than I anticipated... then again, Akechi got most of his frustration already out by pummeling Akira lol.


	9. stop time with you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got so many comments last chapter and I just wanted to express my gratitude and love and ahhhh - granted, half of those are my replies, but still. Really a big thank to everyone who invests time to write one, like, omg T-T
> 
> **A small issue inc regarding this story's direction and Goro!**  
> 
> 
> I wanted to make something clear because a person expressed their discomfort about my approach on him (which is totally fine! He's not everyone's cup of tea here, or else everybody would be reading my fic lol) in the last chapter. I thought I tagged everything enough initially, and it may could have been because that person was a bit sloppy in reading as well, but I added ...one tag (wow) and changed the warning (hue), which I hope prevents future misunderstandings from my side a bit more without spoiling too much.
> 
> Akechi is NOT a good person in this fic, and I'd wager even overall. However, I won't go too much into that, and rather concentrate on how I try to portray him here. He's willing to achieve an awfully personal goal with selfish and dubious methods. He throws away life carelessly the moment it begins showing signs on impairing his path, and overall he has very little care for anyone that isn't him or Akira. Arrogant, selfish, probably a superiority complex, as self-centered as he's devoted to his concept of Akira.
> 
> I'd say he's canon, and I merely turned that up a few many notches and directed it into a more specific direction.
> 
> Akechi isolates Akira from everyone else, makes it only that he has only a single, constant input - and that is from him. He has the power to inflict punishment when he sees fit, easily bringing Akira to the brink of death several times, and 'soothes' such actions with loving gestures and caress. It's especially effective because it's Akira, but it's manipulation on a high level which is, generally speaking, absolutely not ok because there's no second input other than Akira's own mind which is already under constant fire from Akechi's words.
> 
> As you might have noticed, this fic overall isn't a 'Goro redemption' or 'Goro needs a hug' story. His personality here is not something that can be solved with a few hugs and talks and therapy lessons, and I don't want it to because I consciously write his character like that!
> 
> I'm a sucker for darker, corruptive concepts, so I love Akechi in this twisted view _especially_ because he's so manipulative and morally questionable, and me or you are allowed to because it's fiction and he's an imaginary character that doesn't exist. Most of you clicked on this because they want to see a similar development, right? 
> 
> This fanfiction will get dark. Because Akechi is dark, and I repeat, in caps, **MANIPULATIVE** , and he wants Akira to become dark as well. If such an ending or the whole dub con isn't your thing, you still have time to hop off after reading more than 60k words. Lol.
> 
> If this is your thing: Hell yes, please stay on this journey with me! I promise I will try to deliver a fanfic worthy of your time because I love possessive (and obsessive) characters that dip well into the darker scale of morals.
> 
> Sorry for putting this heavy thing in the beginning, but I feel like I just needed to address this one last time to calm my conscience (and before I can run havoc with the end) XD!
> 
> Again, not bea-read. Probably some mistakes, but I'm super tired of editing haha I'm sorry :(

###  December 11th, Sunday

When Akira feels consciousness beckoning, he immediately tries to go back to sleep again.

Everything is fuzzy and hard to grasp, but what he tries is squeezing his eyes shut in hopes of being able to go back to the pleasant, dreamless state of mind where worry and responsibility don't exist.

He’s just so warm and comfortable, a blanket softer than clouds present everywhere Akira tries to direct his thoughts to, but it’s paired with a deep exhaustion as well, slowly beginning to fill Akira’s heavy brain with the most recent events that threaten to tear the fluffy walls of his castle down.

Sensing the futility of his task, Akira gives up, sighing when he’s starting to wake up for real. The blended, mushed sensation around him take distinctive shapes again.

His limbs _ache_ despite there being no injury, and Akira feels like doing as little as adjusting his head will rob him of every bit of last energy available to him.

Tangled blanket askew over his middle, and more importantly - the weight of an arm around his waist, how Akira is pressed against another, more prominent source of heat that spreads over his entire backside down to his legs and simply everywhere.

Akira should – Akira should _really_ try to pull away.

He does some quick math in his head and decides that lifting his arm and trying to move and wriggle himself out of Akechi’s grasp would require way too much energy, and that it's definitely not worth it if he won't be able to budge the offending limb in the first place.

And the other option, that being saving energy by doing nothing at all and still enjoying the benefits of this arrangement at the cost of his conscience -that sounds a lot more promising.

The warmth of Akechi pressed up against him seeps through both of their clothes (which Akechi hadn’t taken off, thank god, even though he is _not_ in his thief outfit anymore), having an absolutely wonderful effect on the dull, throbbing pain spread all over his body.

It feels like Akechi is absorbing parts of Akira’s ingrained exhaustion, injecting a healthy dose of comfortableness and fussiness in return, and it should absolutely not feel this good and Akira should definitely pull away – instead, he uses the regained energy initially saved for pulling away to snuggle closer, deciding that whatever rational thoughts screaming inside his head could wait until he stops aching all over.

Akechi might probably just pull him back anyway if he were to try and scoot away, and Akira is just so damn tired that he can’t give a care beyond trying to relieve all of his limbs of their stupor.

Akira gets the impression that he’s been neglecting the rational side of his quite a lot recently.

There’s a rumble at his backside, and soon enough a husky chuckle fills the heavy morning air (at least Akira assumes it’s morning). The arm around his waist squeezes, and Akira feels his pillow dip when Akechi re-adjusts, hot breath now teasingly fanning over the bit of skin that isn’t covered by the large, black shirt he’s wearing.

“If I had known you’d be even more compliant than usual, I would have probably went a lot harder on you.”

Oh, great.

Akechi’s voice has never been as deep as the voices people like to use for movie trailers, but it certainly dips a little in the morning, the husk of tiredness adamantly clinging to phonetic edges and not wanting to let go yet.

Add the usual, sensual richness Akechi manages to coat each of his words with, and it’s a dangerous combination that doesn't do your health any good if you just woke up.

Akira knows his cheeks are reddening, and buries his face into the pillow a bit more to try and stifle it.

_Shut up,_ he wants to say, but the memory of white and blinding pain has him bite his tongue before he knows what’s happening, and a muffled “Please stop talking.” spills into the pillow.

Despite how inaudible those words were, Akechi still seems to understand him, 

“I’m having a rather pleasant time at seeing you get flustered over something that should come natural to both of us.”

Akira silently groans – he’s sure the few bits of energy his body uses to somewhat function are all shooting upwards with the amount of blood that’s rushing inside of his head.

“I retract my request. Please start talking like a normal person instead.”

Another laugh that shouldn’t sound as good as it does, and Akechi slyly remarks, “I doubt either of us are quite normal.”

And then Akira remembers a different kind of laugh; nearly hysterical, unabashed and _loud_ , accompanied by the sound of tearing and ripping, dripping and splashing-

The arm around him tightens, and only now Akira realizes that his hand, splayed out before him, is gripping the sheets so tight that his knuckles are paler than they already are.

He pulls it towards his chest before cupping it with his other hand, holding both close to his heart as he forcefully exhales. Akira allows more memories to consume him, slower and more meticulously this time.

A fluttering cape of justice raining hell on him. Sharp pierces striking every inch of his body; unfathomable amounts of pain, squeezing his heart and lungs and everything until it broke into pieces.

A moment stretched into a half an eternity of sensations Akira never wanted to go through again, never, never, never.

A bridge of blood connecting lips collapsing, the blessing of a healing persona taking so much of that pervasive pain away until Akira could finally breath, only for it to be stolen again - Akira’s eyelashes flutter when he recalls another kind of warmth encasing him.

A strong, solid body caging him in, just like now, soft and lingering touches, pressing with more intend the longer they traveled, a raw desire bursting through that Akira wanted to seize for himself-

If he were in his attic, Akira thinks he would have screamed into his pillow.

But he knows he isn’t, and the events of yesterday are a bitter reminder – no, a confirmation that Akira can’t escape.

Before, he had somehow approached that topic with a morbid sense of humor. Despite all the negativity piling against his situation, deep down Akira believed he could flee on his own, without anyone’s help.

That Akechi would slip up and grow lenient and lax over time if Akira behaved.

Maybe he shouldn’t have taken the very first opportunity that felt like the smallest chance of victory.

Maybe Akira should have waited a bit before seizing a moment that tasted dangerously close to freedom, something both foreign and familiar to him after having spent more than a month in Akechi’s palace.

Akira remembers being slammed into harsh stone, livid eyes pinning him so effectively against the wall that Akira felt like the arm cutting off his air supplies had been unnecessary.

Yes, maybe Akira could have chosen a better timing, waited for a better opportunity. But Akira had been naïve once again, despite the promise towards himself that he wouldn't be.

Now it's a deep-rooted _fact_ residing with Akira, the knowledge that Akechi would find him regardless of how much distance he’d create between the two of them.

Even the spontaneous rupture of exasperation that helped Akira remain unyielding in the dark alley felt nearly insignificant against the sheer rage and anguish Akechi's eyes promised.

And - what if Akechi drags his friends even more into this?

If Akira were to step out of line again, what keeps his captor from simply seizing one of the Phantom Thieves as a more vicious form of retaliation?

Surely Akechi can spin a story about an obligatory interrogation, separating individuals only to force them into the Metaverse where he holds a power like no other.

Maybe it wouldn't even go that far; starting and ending in reality.

It’s a possibility Akira hadn’t thought of before, but now it suddenly seems like a logical conclusion to draw with all cards open, and a consequence Akechi surely must have considered at least once.

_"Next time, I’ll let Loki loose. So please do behave, would you?_

Who says it has to be against _Akira?_

He cannot afford to escape if that's a valid option for Akechi to take, but the firm realization that he is _realistically_ unable to seizes any other thoughts deterring into that direction.

He had shown vast improvement, Akechi said it himself – Akira felt powerful tearing through the shadows on the ship, the only times he faltered consisting of when he underestimated his owns strength and speed – but Akira can’t even beat a single persona of Akechi.

Sure, he’s been getting considerably closer to besting the cognitive version of Robin Hood, and he managed to go as far as destroy its weapon from its real part yesterday.

If that had been a win or a loss for Akira, he isn't really sure – Robin Hood’s attacks were just as devious as before, perhaps even more so since Akira managed to land more than a few hits in comparison to when he just started.

It still accumulated to nothing that really threatened the persona or tipped the scale in his favor.

And to think that Akechi had been standing in the corner, watching with a neutral, but intense expression, _not_ moving, _not_ participating, _still_ having Loki at his disposal, not to mention _himself_ -

Akira is hopelessly outclassed, and even if he feels confident in beating cognitive Robin Hood within the next days – he’d probably still have cognitive Loki to conquer, not to mention Akechi’s actual personas who are in a different league altogether. 

Oh, and Akechi _with_ his personas.

“You're thinking too much,” Akechi grumbles, and it reminds Akira that he’s still nestled within his nemesis' arms because there aren't many alternatives. “I can practically hear the gears turning inside your head. Do share them if they're so heavy.”

Akira just wishes that what Akechi is currently doing would _hurt_ him at the very least, not filling his mind with dreadfully positive emotions at having someone wrapped around him like he's so much more worth than he actually is.

Akira hums. “Thinking about how you nearly killed me a second time.”

The words should come out accusing, cold and ruthless and hurt and disappointed, but Akira thinks they sound like a petty complaint at best.

He hears the softest drag of skin over a pillow. Probably Akechi’s mouth, twisting into a knowing, mirthful smile.

Why are they _both_ being so nonchalant about it?

“A rather unique experience, wasn’t it?”

“Can a second time of the same thing be unique?”

Akechi chuckles. “You tell me.”

Akira must have hit his head a few times too hard when he fell down the stairs of his attic that one time he tried getting away from Ann.

In his defense, the girl had wanted to give him a make-over simply because she thought _you have a wonderful face for that!_ ,and some of the brushes she took out had looked dangerously spiky and _long_ in a way that Akira didn't want them anywhere near his face.

Preferably for an eternity long.

Now that he recalls it, that traumatizing event had occurred just a few days before they tried to infiltrate Akechi’s palace.

This might actually explain a lot of things, even his sudden urge to rub his backside against Akechi when he feels a morning erection vaguely pressing onto it.

Akechi is really starting to affect him.

Akira is petrified as he holds his breath, anxiously anticipating something, _anything_ , but Akechi seems unbothered, grunting once, and then slightly distancing his lower body from him that Akira doesn’t feel it anymore.

He doesn’t dwell too much on how the slightest sliver of disappointment sneaks into the relief of having gained distance, and he feels like suffocating a little less than before.

As if to make up for that loss, Akira feels a hand coming to rest on top of his hair, slowly starting to thread through the slightly tangled strands.

His hair may be hard to tame at times, but Akira prides himself over having rather low-maintenance morning hair, a fact Akechi seems to shamelessly indulge himself in.

Akira doesn’t know what to do when another, more tenant sort of warmth settles in his stomach, because that’s scarier than anything else Akechi had shown him up until now, especially with how much a part of him purrs at elegant fingers carding through his hair.

He had seen Akechi fight numerous times in different styles.

Akira saw Akechi taking apart shadows in Sae’s palace: Dignified, composed, but with a certain finesse that easily dipped into pretentiousness at times that made Ryuji scowl and Yusuke nod in approval.

Akira saw Akechi going against _him:_ Merciless and unforgiving. Arrogant to the point it made Akira want to wipe smirks off his face with the sole of his boot despite their gap in powers. But never unfair. Strict in his lessons, pushing Akira to his limits each time, yet complimenting him in indirect ways that made Akira feel hot and fuzzy all over due to some god-forsaken reason.

(He vehemently doesn't count his near death experiences here - but wasn't that just basically Akira losing like any other person, any shadow simply because he is weaker? Shouldn't he be grateful that Akechi _doesn't_ kill him in the end?)

And now Akira had seen Akechi in a different palace with a more personal meaning to the detective: A storm of wrath set free, offended if a shadow even so much as looked at him. An incomparable destructiveness that coaxed Akira’s own want to fight out, leaving nothing to be recognized behind - similar to their first one on one fight, but even more salient. 

Although Akechi had tried to compose himself more often than not, he clearly loosened himself with each enemy that fell victim to his blade or spell, most likely unaware of his own unraveling.

And it had been addicting to watch, to see red stain white and the usually haughty smile twist into an angry, but exuberantly happy expression that gave the impression of a grander purpose beyond just wanting to spill blood.

So much that Akira gave in a little, tried to fall into a rhythm that matched Akechi’s, which was a lot easier than he anticipated because the shadows were surprisingly weak in comparison what Akechi made Akira face.

Akira hadn’t felt… free in the ordinary sense _,_ but it was an emotion that came dangerously close to it.

Exhilaration each time he drove his dagger deep into a shadow to _twist_ , adrenaline when Akira managed to read Akechi’s movements just right to initiate a follow-up or finishing attack, or to back off and let Akechi get the last hit when it was more convenient to, so different from the mundane routine he adapted before.

A thrilling dance of death and blood where nothing else aside from them and the sole instinct to prevail existed.

It felt undeniable _good,_ to see the fruits of his hard work and development.

Where Akechi is still an impenetrable wall Akira only bashes his own knuckles and head in (for now), the shadows had been a proof that Akira actually _did_ make progress, no matter how little Akira felt gaining whenever he lost against Akechi in any form.

It was a reminder that Akira doesn’t actually _suck,_ but rather that, once again, Akechi is monstrously strong.

Even now Akira feels his own heart starting to beat a bit faster, relishing in the memories of the palace despite still not knowing too much about it.

But fear mixed into that as well.

Those rush of feelings spreading throughout his body were too fast. He had been afraid of all the new sensations prickling his brain and moving his limbs and what they _meant._

Perhaps that had been another reason why he bolted so suddenly when Akechi had been distracted for just a bit after they exited the Metaverse, not merely out of his desire to escape only.

Although Akira feels a little less like three bulldozers driven by Akechi himself ran over him, Akira thinks his body might just ache a little less aching now.

At least his limbs have evolved from throbbing and inwardly twitching to a weird sensation of a prickling numbness.

Well, if his main body doesn't cooperate, talking it is.

“As much as I love cuddling with you,” Akira begins, hating how the sarcasm bites less than he intended to, but hating even more how _casual_ he sounds, “don’t you have to- like, ah, work or school?”

Because Akechi rarely stays the night, and _never_ slept in the same bed as him. It makes Akira feel uncomfortable and weird and anticipating because Akechi _touches_ him, but not like... this.

Akechi sounds faintly amused when he responds. “I’m rather flattered and touched about your concern, seeing as I don’t seem have it too often nowadays, but it _is_ Sunday.”

The hand in Akira’s hair shortly stills before picking the ministrations back up, now dragging lazily through the curls.

“I believe it’s entirely up to me how I choose to spend the rare, free time at my disposal. And I find this to be rather ….comfortable.”

Not knowing what to respond after that and afraid his tongue would betray him, Akira holds his mouth, but fails to suppress the manly squeak that leaves him when he feels the winded arm around his mid loosening, sliding back so that Akechi’s hand rests on his hip, applying pressure into a different direction and- oh, he’s being rolled over. Akechi’s face is dangerously close to his now.

Akira suppresses a wince when his bottom lip suddenly throbs with phantom pain, a set of teeth having sunken into it, warning and claiming at the same time.

A whole other series of faint sensations previously silent let themselves known, but Akira doesn’t need to lift his hand and trace over the marks sprouting from all over his neck and throat to know that they’re there.

Some tension leaves him when Akira notes that Akechi remains in the same position, looking like he won't move for a while longer, so the thief dares to drag his eyes up to the other's face against his better judgement, wary of what he'lf find.

Akechi looks… relaxed, content.

It’s similar to the look when LebLanc is empty, Akechi the lone occupant in the café with only Akira to keep him company, Sojiro already at Futaba.

Such evenings usually have two outcomes.

The time descends either into full blown debates and playful, but earnest arguments, or into a quieter atmosphere where nothing happens at all, the stirring of a cup or the turn of a page the only sounds to fill the silence lazily curling.

Akechi rarely talks during the those times, either starring off into the distance, fingers on his personalized coffee or absorbed into the few bits of work the detective always wants to squeeze into every bit of free time available whenever job and school overlap too much.

Akira felt his gaze on his back more often than not, but while he’s decent at holding a conversation, he kind of sucks at starting one, so Akira usually busies himself with cleaning, making the two of them dinner that Akechi denies only every second time, or drinking his own late-night coffee next to Akechi.

Their banters and arguments always felt nice and made Akira feel like they share a sense of camaraderie beyond their obvious rivalry. But just as good does the silence feel that is prone to stretch between them on several occasion.

It might have been slightly awkward in the beginning, but with Akechi's continued visits, wordless evenings evolved into a pleasing calmness and a void both like to dwell in. No pressure on either sides to force a conversation simply to fill what is natural, inevitable at times, and such moments Akira rarely experiences because so many people are talking and talking and talking to him.

Him and Akechi are not able to communicate without words outside of battle where it comes peculiarly natural to them, but a lot of times it's still hard for him to get a grasp on what Akechi is thinking.

On the other hand, when a certain amount of time passes, Akira feels like he's able to get a rough, but general _concept_ of what Akechi might be feeling overall when it's just the two of them, and he has the inkling suspicion that the same applies in reverse as well.

A silence that could be broken, but both acknowledge that it wouldn’t, preferring to bask in the momentarily peace of it. 

Maybe a compromise, so to speak. A truce.

Right now, Akechi’s mouth isn’t stretched into a smile, but it’s a relaxed line, recovering from the constant, polite façade he puts on for the media. His eyes are a bit sharper, a lot more authentic, as Akira finds.

They study Akira from underneath a hood of fine lashes, and combined with a shimmer of what Akira thinks is _gentleness_ idly trying to find its path through red-brown depths, it makes for a strange serendipity.

Akechi is so fucking beautiful that Akira has to close his eyes for a few seconds, calming a racing heart that shouldn’t beat for the person before him.

Not when he knows the person could reach out any second, breaching skin and pushing a rib cage aside to clasp the very, traitorous organ that beats inside Akira's chest with fervor unknown to him.

Akira finds himself unable to look at Akechi’s face anymore, but there aren’t too many other options left for Akira that would provide a suitable alternative.

But Akechi's eyes are too heavy, and Akira needs to do _something,_ so he promptly does the next thing available - burying his head into the crook of Akechi’s neck to hide fluttering eyelids and flushed cheeks because reality is unfair and Akira is suffering all kinds of pains that don't have an immediate cure.

In retro-perspective, it might have been a bit counter-productive to get closer to the very person he actually wants to get away from.

But it’s too late now, his two hands squished between their torsos, and Akira won’t pull away again and give Akechi the satisfaction of seeing him even more flustered than before.

Also, the action drained more of his strength than he thought. Akira can't move away even if he wants to,. He doubts Akechi would have let him anyway.

“Awfully affectionate, aren’t we?,” Akechi murmur into the crown of his hair from above him. The hand that had been previously toying with his hair is now pressed against the back of his head, as if to further encourage his actions. “I won’t complain, though.”

Akira has every damn right to wriggle himself out of Akechi’s grasp, settle a pistol against his head and fire – he doesn’t know why he’s not doing that and marveling about Akechi wearing a hoodie instead.

A fact Akira only became aware of just now because he's holding onto it like a lifeline.

How ironic. 

“Contrary to popular belief, my wardrobe does not consist of only vests, coats and dress-shirts.”

Huh, did he say some of that stuff out aloud?

Akira can’t help a dry chuckle, muffled by the dark-blue thickness of Akechi's hoodie. “That’s disappointing. Would have thought you bought them just for me."

Akechi goes tense – the hand that moved up to Akira’s hair again stills, the one settled on his hip loosens, and then both go back to normal within the same instance It happened.

Most likely everyone would have missed the brief slip-up in posture, but Akira has spent more time than he’s willing to admit trying to simply _see_ Akechi, to search for micro movement that even someone trained as him can’t hide all the time.

Plus, Akechi’s hands are literally _on him,_ and it's hard to miss something so direct.

Akira feels some sort of smugness when realizing that he’s probably the only one having a privilege thousands would most likely kill for.

“Wait. I’m actually right?”

Akechi doesn’t react, but Akira doesn’t need him to.

He can’t help but let the stupid, giddy _joy_ at being right, at catching the detective out of his element spread through his body, adding another layer of contentment around his floating bubble of warmth that’s deliberately ignoring the sword dangling from above.

“Yes,” Akechi sighs above him, and Akira is honestly a bit surprised that he isn’t denying it. “Congratulations on figuring that out. Should I give you a reward now?”

Akira only vaguely registers getting flustered over his statement, because dread settles into the pit of his stomach that starts chasing other feelings way.

Why, Akira thinks. Why can’t you hurt me?

Why can’t Akechi hurt and let him _be_ afterwards? Why does he need to behave like this, making Akira forget too much with how warm and gentle everything is?

Akira hates how _safe_ he feels right now.

He desperately wants to sink his fingers into Akechi’s skin, maybe his face, drag fingernails along exhausted cheeks that fake too often, dig into eyes that shouldn’t shine red to uncover the wrath and greed he had seen just yesterday that would surely swallow Akira whole and confirm everything Akira is afraid of.

Akira doesn’t, because he is more afraid of the consequences than to feel the short satisfaction at being right.

But Akechi just... _doesn't_ as well, remains with one arm lazily draped around Akira like they're both broke college students trying to savor each-other's presence after having woken up on a lazy, free day.

Akira doesn’t want to see this… this _affection_ in Akechi’s eyes in gestures, tries to desperately suppress the trickling instinct to just snuggle closer into the arms of a repeatedly established predator.

That's currently wearing the softest goddamn hoodie Akira ever had the pleasure of feeling. 

And yet Akechi acts like he doesn’t want Akira to go through all the pain he inflicts on him. Makes it seem like a necessary course of action because Akira is unknowing and naïve and therefor needs to be shown what’s right.

Like all Akechi really wants to do is make him feel warm and good and needed.

Like the Phantom Thieves really are-

_Dangerous direction,_ a sharp, rational voice cuts through the chain of thoughts, both ends falling down and hissing at him, preventing the continuation of that train of thoughts.

_Very dangerous._

He grips the fabric around his hands tighter, laughing at the cruel irony.

It’s so hard to keep track of everything. So many options to consider, countless of variables and factors he can’t ever hope to to properly take into account without one side suffering.

Why does simply wanting the good for people around him equals to the most complicated questions and situations?

The hand that had resumed its caressing motions lowers. Akechi brushes with a little more pressure at his scalp, and Akira barely suppresses the whine trying to fight its way out of his throat with how good that simple ministration feels. Since when had he even gotten so sensitive at that place?

~~Doesn’t he deserve a time out as well?~~

“You really just are like a kitten.” Akechi mumbles, fascinated? And barely audible, but just loud enough for Akira to catch.

This isn’t fair. Akechi is not allowed to tug at his heartstrings after all he’s done, and Akira shouldn’t let him do it in the first place. To love as much as he hates, to care as much as he doesn’t.

Akechi's hand continues its journey, slides down the pillow even further before retracting. Akira can’t do anything else but let his chin get tilted up, and he wills his eyes to look back into a hazy, but equally serious pair that threatens to pull him in the longer he looks.

**Love and passion and unyielding devotion,** Akechi hisses into his ear. **All yours to take and claim.**

“I’ve met Nijima,” Akechi breaks the silence, and Akira blinks.

Sharp memories flood him, the reminder that his current world isn’t limited to the four walls of this theater only.

Akira swallows, voice trembling as shame floods him for having forgotten the other side of his circumstances. “...what?”

He has to stop, because it finally feels like he’s falling from somewhere high at an alarming pace. What did Akechi just admit? That he met…who again?

Ah, Makoto.

Where? When?

“She asked about you,” Akechi continues, eyes calculative as they gaze down on Akira’s.

Hope wretches thorns away, tries breaking through and flutters helplessly in his rib cage.

They do care, meaning Akechi is wrong.

They hadn’t been sitting around because it’s been so long and Akira doesn't know anything, received no kind of signal (how could he?), but they are working on getting him out – Akira reminds himself that there is a different flow of time in the Metaverse, and that Akechi’s palace is a fortress merely posing as a theater.

Of course it would take longer than their usual heists.

He sees the line of Akechi’s mouth twitch; and the previously lax form beginning to stretch into a knowing smirk.

“She asked about you,” he repeats, as if Akira had already forgotten that line. “But she was worried about someone else. About how I could do to them what I did to you.”

Confusion settles in his head as he tries to make sense of what Akechi slowly reveals. “What you ….did to me?”, he echoes.

His stomach coils even tighter at hearing his own words, and Akira rakes his brain through thousands of possibilities and scenarios how it could apply. Akechi doesn’t give him much more time to think since he leans down, almost making their noses touch.

“You’re dead to the outside world,” Akechi whispers, and it’s poison dripping in Akira's ears, flooding his brain and seeping into his eyes that he has to blink to see Akechi and not Loki.

A grin, sharp and toothy and real.

“Akira Kurusu is missing, and the leader of the Phantom Thieves is officially dead.”

The sentence sends small tremors through his body. 

That… had been the most ideal outcome of their initial plan.

If he's being honest, Akira expected something along the lines of this happening.

It's simply hard to believe that Akechi would _not_ use Akira's absence in reality to stir things more up than they already are, just maybe not in the exact same way the Phantom Thieves planned on doing if they succeeded in tricking Akechi.

To hear the very same words fall from Akechi's lips when Akira is _here,_ alive and breathing, yes, but in _his_ grasp, the opposite of what it should have been - it feels _heavy._

“...when?”, Akira groggily asks, still having difficulties to articulate his voice with how much is demanding to get outside of him.

But Akira is relieved.

This Akechi - doting and soft, caressing him like a lover can't be right.

Akira is _glad_ for the change, because it’s a proof that none of this fabricated gentleness is actually real, that the Akechi he had seen yesterday wasn’t a lie, but this one, arms wrapped around him in a mocking embrace, is.

And Akira grasps onto that string with a vigorous, vice-like grip, doesn't dare to look down below to see where he would fall if it proves to be another lie.

“Some days ago, Tuesday. They announced it for the whole world to hear – first the capture of the leader, but then the sudden suicide. Out of pride and due to his probation, they said.”

Akechi’s satisfactory tone quickly descends into one of disgust, almost as fast as the glint in his eyes diminishes to make place for a scowling darkness.

“The things they say about you on the internet. As much as I want to tear it entirely apart because they twist that outcome to their own, willing version per usual – I’m afraid that the internet is too big of a concept for me to really influence beyond the small range I possess." 

Akechi scoffs, narrowing his eyes. "People only see what they want to see anyway."

The detective resumes threading through some knots of Akira's hair, works his fingers in delicious motions against his head again. It’s hard for Akira to concentrate when he does that, especially if it isn't clear whether it's meant to calm Akira or Akechi himself.

"But that’s not what I want to focus on. Let us concentrate on your dear friend Nijima - how she came to me, trembling and cold, not properly aware of her own motivations. She sought me out, probably right after she heard the newscast.”

But how was that _not_ a sign of her caring for him?

“You think she abandoned all of her tasks, trying to catch me on my way home because she was worried about _you?_ I hate to break it to you,” Akechi chirps. "But that worry was entirely misplaced. It may have been genuine initially – but not towards you."

One fine eyebrow rises deliberately. "No, she was worried about her _sister_ only," Akechi reveals with wicked glee.

That doesn’t make any sense, no matter how much Akira twists and turns the sentence. His own eyebrows draw together, suspicious and in disbelief. Akechi would not fool him, and Akira would hold his ground because he finally found some.

“Sae? How?”

“Akira,” Akechi sighs, yanks with a sudden roughness at his hair that Akira is looking at the headboard instead of piercing, red-brown eyes that shone with newfound delight.

Does Akira tremble because he fears his next words, or does he tremble because Akechi is driving a single, long finger down his exposed throat, tracing the marks he had left?

“I took your entire group apart, including you. I have enough power in the investigation department to make it seem like a suicide for everyone else. The Phantom Thieves haven’t gotten an inch closer to freeing you because their progress in here is meaningless. And how would poor Nijima feel? Having a beloved sister deeply afflicted with the very person who possesses that much influence. Whom Nijima knows has already been in her sister’s palace already. Sae-san who could potentially… become an obstacle?”

They- they were fighting for him?

They can’t. They’re too weak – they’ll never get you out. Akira had clung to hope brought by other’s advancement, but strangely enough, he had forgotten how easily Akechi had wiped them all out, and it's brought back with a force that prevents him from breathing normally.

No amount of time would be enough for the Phantom Thieves to prepare properly against Akechi’s palace.

_Akira_ is still failing, Akira is still losing.

He’s too strong, he’s too-

“Nijima is aware, or at least suspects that I have enough power to storm Sae-san’s palace on my own. To try and kill her, because there is one to stop me, not even you. Oh, please don’t worry.”

Akira thinks Akechi might smile with how his tone towards the end lifts a bit.

“I don’t have a personal grudge against Sae-san. She’s been a victim of society too, even though a lot of consequences come due to her own decision. But she’s not standing in the way like the Phantom thieves are. She is _not_ an obstacle, might even proof to be a useful tool in the future if I begin to work on utilizing her. Not that Nijima knows that – and that’s why she came to me. When Nijima asked about you, inquiring what I wanted yet again – it really was just out of fear that her sister was next after your proclaimed suicide, and she wanted to confirm whether I’d plan it or not.”

“No,” Akira says, slow and firm. “They- they know I’m alive. You wouldn’t let them think that they’re dead, so of course she'd-”

“You’re missing the point, darling," Akechi interrupts him heatedly. "Of course they cling to the belief that you’re still alive, and I wouldn’t have it any other way because as much as I don’t like admitting it, I still do need them.”

A short pause where Akechi playfully tugs at his hair, all traces of fury suddenly gone.

“What I’m trying to say is that Nijima fears the power I have. Because I convinced the public of so many things that aren’t true, she is nothing more than a trembling, pathetic lamb. She applies that fear to the person she holds dearest, and that isn’t _you._ It’s Sae-san. And even if you would have actually died - I heavily doubt that would have changed anything.”

Akira… doesn’t remember Makoto like that.

Makoto is more distant than everyone else, commanding even though Akira is the leader of the group, but she cares in her own way, devotes her time to get the group to study with her so that their grades improve, tries to get them back on track each time they get carried away too much.

She has a temper she tries hiding, but Makoto also has an attentive quality to her, often reading between the lines and the second person (after himself) to figure out when something is wrong with one of the Phantom Thief members.

And even if she’s worried about Sae – doesn’t she have a right to?

What Akechi said made sense. Akira is painfully aware of his influence since he spends almost every waking second in his presence, and even if he doesn’t, it slowly starts to feel like Akira is _missing_ something, no matter how Akira tries to fill that with countless of stupid and useless things and thoughts.

He’s perhaps the most primal example for the control Akechi holds, and he can’t fault Makoto for thinking that her sister was in danger, especially because Sae has probably the most contact with Akechi aside from himself.

_But she didn't care about you._

She knew I was alive, he argues. There was no need for her to be worried. 

_But it would have been nice, wo **uldn’t it?**_

Of course, but Sae is her relative, meaning she's priority.

**_Priority when you we_ re the one who supposedly died?**

“How- how do I know you’re not lying?”

Akira stills when the rest of Akechi's fingers join the ones tracing claims of possession, the length of them wrapping around his throat in a mocking, soft hold. Another brush against his forehead to fling some bangs out of his way, and Akira feels just as exposed as when Akechi had forced him open yesterday.

“You don’t,” Akechi simply says with a finality in his voice.

It sounds strangely confident despite his confirmation that Akira has little reason to trust him in regards to what he just said.

Akechi holds no exact proof of what he claims did transpire other than dripping, languid words of his own. So why does Akira feel like Akechi isn't lying to him?

“But it’s not a matter of trust.”

The bed dips when the detective adjusts them, and now Akira is tucked under the other’s chin again, the hand curling around his throat between his shoulder blades instead, pressing.

Legs entangle with his own, and it feels too intimate for the words Akechi whispers into the air.

“I’m a logical person. What would I gain out of lying? Outside of my detective persona, of course.” Many things, Akira wants to retort. “Lies have a shockingly high tendency to get found out, especially when it’s you.”

A squeeze on his shoulder, the distracting sensation of a foot dragging up his calves. “You were the first one to see that I’m not the detective everyone posts and gushes about. Then again, I didn't deceive you on purpose. Or maybe I did?”

A soft chuckle above his head that sends shivers down his own back. Akechi's finger encourage them by tracing the knobs of his spine.

“Every lie tries building up a world that doesn’t exist, no matter how small or big. If it’s found out, everything shatters in an instant, and instead provokes the opposite of what it intended to achieve. That’s why I avoid lies with the persons who are impervious against it; more prone to find out that what I say are nothing but pretty words holding empty meanings.

“Regarding Nijima… it’s a deduction, of course, an interpretation of how she acts. But I assure you it’s an entirely unbiased conclusion, and most importantly not a lie. Do you remember when we all first spoke about Sae-san’s palace in LeBlanc?”

Akira does remember, but he had been so focused on Akechi slipping hints of personal conflict and grudges that Akira hadn’t focused on what was actually being discussed that day.

He still tries to conjure an image of Makoto, what she might have said in that analytic, flat voice of hers tinted with only bits of emotion as she described her sister’s palace. How she might have looked, perched uncomfortably in one of the boots, all eyes on her, fidgeting with her hands.

But all his mind conjures is the clenching of black gloves, a smile that claimed all of Akira's attention because it was stretched too tight to not hurt.

“She said that the only reason she joined the Phantom Thieves was because she wanted to changer her sister’s heart," Akechi murmurs huskily against his temple.

It’s fragile, what’s building up inside of Akira. He wants to tentatively reach out for it, but fears that it’d shatter if he were to do so.

“She admitted it herself, shamelessly so. Nijima wants nothing else but to have a happy future with her sister. Where she isn’t pressured by Sae-san to do good on every occasion, where it feels like they’re family for once instead of two distant relatives that can barely stand each-other. That’s why she also needs you back. But don’t mistake that for attachment or care – she wants to _use_ you, use the possibilities that the concept of Joker provides, because without it she wouldn’t be able to clear her sister's palace due to the incompetence of the Phantom Thieves overall. And hearing of her leader’s suicide… she connected the dots, fears for loosing an important piece on her board, but fears that the power might turn its attention to her sister the most.

“She doesn’t care about you,” Akechi finishes. "Never did."

He doesn’t sound smug or prideful like Akira had desperately wants him to. It feels like Akechi is stating a simple fact commonly known to mankind, a google search away.

“And she’s one of many, many more.”

Maybe it shatters, Akira thinks, but he can’t be sure, not when Akechi is suddenly all around him, pressing and squeezing him into a warmth that feels like the only sensation capable of going against the coldness that tries to devour him, starting from the inside of his heart. 

“It’s fine, love,” he hears a gentle voice whisper, real and close and a hint of barely restrained fury which Akira knows is not directed at him, but at someone else because he... cares?

“I’m not one of them.”

Akira doesn’t know he’s crying until Akechi laps the traces of them up with his tongue.

###  December 12th, Monday

“Do you really think this will work?”

“Mona, please have some faith in me.”

“I’m actually more concerned about me accidentally swallowing this thing when jumping or landing too harshly.” Morgana suddenly reels back, eyes wide. “Wait- do we even have a proper _method_ of removing that if it gets inside my stomach?”

Futaba wriggles her fingers towards him, light reflecting in her glasses so that Morgana can only see the unnerving grin that creeps onto her face. “We’ll have to, ah, remove it with appropriate medical measures, of course.”

She ends with a cackle, and Morgana jumps on all fours, hair standing off like a Zionga just struck him.

“No no no! I’m not doing this anymore, I totally changed my mind, you can go ask Makoto or something.”

Rolling her eyes and uncaring of Morgana’s frightful state, she twirls in her chair, stretching her arms above her head.

“Duh, if we’d show up at his apartment personally he’ll totally get on our case. Doesn’t matter that he doesn’t know what we’re doing by visiting him – he'll just _find out_ , that’s for sure. Also, I don’t think people climbing up a wall to his window is less suspicious. First floor maybe, but second? Nah. That's why we need you!”

“I wasn't referring to you _climbing_ up to his apartment!” the cat grumpily mumbles, going back into a sitting position. He eyes the uncannily small device in front of his paws with slightly more disdain than before. “We could just throw it inside.”

“I'm a beast in shooters Mona, but my aim irl unfortunately sucks. And since his window is always in tilt position, it'd still be near impossible to hit through that small gap. I mean, my baby can _climb,_ but not for long and definitely not that high. Not to mention anyone of us would look suspicious, lingering around the area like we're selling some drugs when all we want to do is sneak a bug inside of his apartment."

"Argh! Then how about the front-door and send someone he isn't too suspicious of?"

"Well, then I'd wager who _isn't_ suspicious in his eyes, especially after the stunt he pulled. And even if Sae is at his door... Well, if she were to do an obvious throwing motion it’ll obviously be obvious.”

“Of course she’d do it _subtly!_ Argh, even if that doesn’t work according to you - how about you have that thing stationed at his doorframe, Sae distracts him, and then you can make it go inside?”

“A better attempt,” Futaba chirps, framing Morgana with her fingers like Yusuke occasionally does.

“But nope. Sae doesn’t have a viable reason to visit him since she usually reaches out to him at work. Then again, we first met her when we got thrown outside of Akechi’s palace, right? Sae could say she wants to speak about, uh, a current investigation personally since he’s hard to get a hold off with how much he _studies_ for his entrance exam.”

Futaba wrinkles her nose, remembering his written and posted apology regarding the lack of new content from his side, and the fact that he has yet to release an official statement regarding the whole Phantom Thief manner since he had been the one to arrest the leader.

_...To give you all something to look forward to, though, I'm pleased to reveal that I'll be having an interview on the 17th of this month. Please cheer for me and look forward to it. Again, I apologize for my recent inactivity, but what kind of ace detective would I be if I wouldn't be able to ace my college entrance exam?_

The white tip of his black tail flickers once in satisfaction. “See? No need to use me. Why didn’t I think of this in the first place?”

Futaba stops her spinning, suddenly slamming her hands on the desk to stop her momentum and successfully making Morgana jump a second time. “No, you’re going to do it simply because I want you to now.”

“Huh? What kind of reasoning is that?”

“Mine.” she reaches out and catches Morgana’s head between her hands before he can make any attempts at escape. Miserable meows echo throughout her small room as Futaba squishes and molds his cheeks.

“Out of principle I want you to climb up the wall and put that thing into his window when it’s somewhat open! It's also the least suspicious method of all and surely guaranteed to work! Hey, see it as your personal quest to level up. Or maybe a job-class advancement?”

“N-no!”

“I’ll treat you to Sushi.”

“You don’t have any money! And I’m not bribable. Such cheap tactics-”

“The extra thick one. I’ll ask Sojiro.”

“Fine,” Morgana concedes quickly. “I’ll do it just- please, stop this.”

“Hehe.”

Morgana feels strangely _refreshed_ in a refined, brutal way, but he won’t ever admit that, opting to run his paw over his ears and head several times to get the feeling in his face back.

When he’s done, Morgana looks at Futaba again, ready to go into further detail with her end of the bargain, only to see her hands slung around her knees, Futaba curling into herself more than usual.

Any snarky comment on his tongue dies, and Morgana's eyes soften. “Futaba...”

“I know,” she whispers, starring at her screen with an indefinite gaze.

“Sorry. It’s just… What Akechi did to him… What he said about _us_...”

“You saw?”

She gives him a look, half indignant, half sad. “Akira’s not the only phone I wired, you know. Even if I weren’t at the entrance where I had safe access to my persona to see what was going on, I could have at least listened in on one of your phones. Unless he didn't take them away, of course.”

When Morgana opens his mouth, Futaba shakes her head, knowing what he wants to say. “Akechi must have taken Akira's off at some point. I can technically reach it, but I don’t hear a thing, meaning it's probably still inside the Metaverse. Absolute wasteland.”

“What about Akechi's phone?”

She grimaces. “It’s the first thing I tried after Akira. He either doesn’t use it anymore or destroyed it. His detective senses must have tingled more than we anticipated. Also the reason why I want _you_ to do this. You're best suited to get the job done.”

Slow realization crawls into blue eyes as Morgana recoils slightly. “Then there was… no guarantee our plan could have worked if he was suspicious or knew about the bug on his phone,” he statically says, feeling shivers ruffle up his fur.

“There hadn’t been much chances in the first place,” Futaba grimly reminds him.

Her eyes grow darker, and she presses her head further into the small space between her knees as if wanting to disappear entirely.

“But when he knows about me meddling with his phone - even a hunch or suspicion should be enough for him to take precautions and counter measures - the chances of Akira actually surviving the encounter we planned would have been slim. Very, very, slim.”

###  December 13th, Tuesday

It’s Tuesday when Akechi receives a phone call from Shido, telling him in a ranting fit about the leader of a small, but opposing fraction that has been spreading bad words and rumors about him the closer election day got.

Probably the man he mentioned when Akechi was looking to replace his light bulbs, and whom Shido assured was only small fry.

Akechi doubts it does anything but have an actual impact on Shido’s campaign that sure to be won with the recent propaganda centered around the fall of the Phantom Thieves.

But Shido is a spiteful, senile old fool occupying a high position that takes everything too personal and denies caring when he actually does.

He has his underlings for such low matters.

Sadly, Akechi is one of them (albeit the highest ranked one) and can’t really refuse, not when he wants to keep up his pretenses (for just a little longer, he tells himself).

But it does not soften the drop in his mood when he hears that the target is located practically at the other end of Japan (not really – Niigata doesn’t take long to reach by plane, but it _still_ feels horrifyingly distant anyway that it might as well be.)

Even if it’s his own palace, Akechi only has direct access to it when he’s around his apartment. Something which was a mild inconvenience before, but now turns out to be a profound liability that Akechi grits his teeth over as he quickly puts aside briefcase and scarf after coming home from school.

His fingers fish his phone out of his coat before hanging the clothing aside, and activation of the Metaverse app that follows is mere routine by now.

Akira stays silent when Akechi tells him that he’d have to board a plane by the time evening comes, and that he’d only come back on Friday.

If it were up to Akechi, he’d immediately take the next flight right after getting the job done, but Shido had already booked everything, and even the earliest flight available is only on Thursday.

Akechi doesn’t possess valid arguments for Shido to change a made decision, especially when the paperwork and transactions were all already done.

But the mere notion of having to part from Akira for three entire days _hurts._

It's why Akechi is reluctant of spending his nights here.

It doesn't matter how much he desires to wake up with Akira in his arms - not only out of fear that Shido would find out (he doesn't fear _him -_ he'd merely be wary of ruining the climax he worked so hard for if Shido were to get suspicious), but also because of the exact reason that's making the scowl seem engraved on his face.

The longer he spends time with his thief (especially including something as simple as sleeping in the same bed), the less Akechi wants to _leave._

Even when he's exiting the Metaverse to keep up appearances, or whatever emergency managed to come up that have to be solved personally by him - the emptiness continues to grow each time that happens, the void of where Akira should be growing bigger and gripping tighter.

The only positive thing out of this entire agenda is Akechi's curiosity to see how Akira would fare in his presence.

How much progress he would make fighting wise, having found a crushing defeat in Robin Hood again, but also a newfound motivation to improve.

If Akira would _miss_ him.

Oh, Akechi is sure he's gotten enough into the other's head to make him feel the absence. Akira might not suffer as much as Akechi would (not yet) - but he _will_ feel Akechi's absence, probably more than he wants to admit.

It's not hard to do so when Akechi had been the only person to accompany and talk to him for the last _month._

He can’t suppress a dark smile at that, and ignores Akira’s questioning eye brow rise in favor of continuing to give subtle, but clear warnings about what would happen if Akira tries anything funny _again._

Akira pales fast enough that Akechi believes him when Akira says that he will behave, if only for the sake of not facing his chaos persona just yet.

When Akechi leaves, it’s with a good-bye kiss Akira vehemently tries to fight off, but hurriedly accepts towards the end when he sees Akechi’s eyes flashing.

In return for having to involuntarily part with him, Akechi leaves him the tool he bought that day on the building center that managed to catch his eye.

Akira’s eyebrows furrow when he sees it, face still tinted slightly red, but glad for having an excuse to focus on something else.

“It should be easier to use in here than outside,” Akechi says, eyeing the device. He must admit that he had nearly forgotten about it after he purchased it. “I trust that you’ll find a suited purpose for it.”

It feels like Akechi is leaving the majority of himself when he accesses the app again.

His apartment is definitely colder than usual.

The knowledge that Akechi won't get to see him for another three days is incredibly frustrating as well. Images of what Akira is doing, of what Akechi could be doing to and with him are the only things keeping him sane yet vulnerable as well, so much that he doesn’t really feel himself boarding the plane later one, exiting the airport when he arrives, checking in in his hotel suite.

It's an endless cycle of creation and destruction that can only be solved by having the actual Akira beside him. 

The black and red colors upon opening the door to his room mock and taunt him. Akechi briefly contemplates about asking for a change of rooms, but ultimately figures that the _lack_ of association would drive him on the edge just as a present reminder would.

It’s an out of body experience, slipping into the Metaverse once he’s venturing into the darker sides of the harbor of Niigata.

Akechi doesn’t waste any time, turns on his nav to slip into an entirely different Mementos of that from Tokyo, and immediately starts seeking out his target to induce a psychotic breakdown, mental shutdown, _whatever._

He’s never really liked doing any of this, watching the shadow of the man clutch his head, pupils nearly disappearing as he screams his soul out. Akechi finds even less enjoyment when he does so under Shido's command and not his own.

There had been a time Akechi’s hand had shaken when he pulled the trigger and flashed his saber, always accompanied with days of nightmares that devoured his sleep down to the bones.

It became a lot more bearable over the time when routine kicked in, trembling limbs growing stiller, feeling number, until dead skin began tingling with the slightest of excitement, a little spark that turned into a torrent sea of flames, later on too large and to properly control all the time.

Inducing mental breakdowns, however, is still a matter he’s not fully grown comfortable with.

Messing with people’s minds, relinquishing them forcefully from their control – death is final and defining, but the part of Loki’s powers that enabled Akechi to become Shido’s hitman is slow and as arbitrary as it could get. 

Oh, Akechi likes seeing his victims suffer – there’s quite an art in dragging out all the different kinds of screams people could produce, coaxing their ugliest, yet most scarce part out of them.

To see what kind of expression they make when they're at their lowest, striped bare from titles and names, from any other sort of emotion but crucial pain, where they're just _themselves_ is intoxicating. 

Akechi _relishes_ in that part, but only when they’re in a realistic state of mind to feel what he's doing, not lost in a chaos of black and red wrath where he has merely partial control over.

They need to consciously be aware of what Akechi puts them through, not be unwillingly ignorant about it, a mere husk of their former selves after exposed to Loki's powers.

Using the twisted persona at the _end_ though, when Akechi's victims are a step away from insanity and on the edge of breaking into unrecognizable pieces – _then_ he revels in the dehumanized screams Loki brings, because it's a fitting end for deranged humans, the final curtain call to an excelling performance.

But not as an opener. 

Akechi wants to let them know that _he's_ the one coaxing out sounds they never thought of being capable of producing, and they can't do that when they've already gone mad by Loki's influence from the start.

Unfortunately Akechi is unable to do that with his current case, because Shido still wants the man to be semi-conscious for a few days to avoid suspicion before the cognitive consequences would kick in. Torture, or overall just dragging pain out before using Loki usually meant immediate reaction.

A pity - Akechi would have really liked to see him scream and piss himself in most carnal fear.

His brow twitches as he briefly gets distracted, making the man let out an especially loud howl when he accidentally lets Loki a bit too much into his head. Well, his victim would still have enough time, Akechi supposes.

He isn't usually this... murderous when taking care of the more insignificant and trivial targets that merely earned Shido's intention instead of actually doing something truly despicable, but Akechi guesses he needs to compensate the lack of Akira with _something._

Loki retreats when he’s done, and the material of his black clothes shift uncomfortably against each-other with each steps he takes as he aims for the surface again.

He’d been wandering Mementos for a bit longer than intended and therefor worked up a decent amount of sweat, the paths more desolated and twisted since this part of Japan is nearly not as densely inhabited as Tokyo.

Akechi hates how accustomed he had gotten to the weird cat-car despite having walked miles and miles on his own prior the Phantom Thieves, even going so far as using his bike a few times when he felt particularly dreadful about letting his feet be tainted further by the distortion of humanity’s desires.

He had only visited Mementos one or two times since his successful capture of Akira, merely out of annoying, but unrelenting curiosity to see how the thief's friends were doing outside of his theater.

Akechi had set his expectations very low on purpose, but still found himself severely disappointed at the display he got.

The reminder of the Phantom Thieves irritatingly stubbornness to remain ignorant, coupled with the burning desire to get back to Akira, yet knowing he’d still have quite some time ahead of him only amplifies the headache persistently blooming inside his head.

His current situation becomes a tad bit more bearable when he envisions the person of his desire by his side, set in the near future.

A dash of black and red, darting all across the place with deadly precision, supporting with hazardous curse spells and taunting flashes of a dagger while Akechi takes out the pathetic trash. But Akira would also dive in, offering nothing but a smirk for compensation as he snatches Akechi's prey away just before the snarling detective can land the deadly hit, tossing the shadow into the air instead to finish it with a series of aerial kicks. 

It's a vision Akechi really, really likes, and his mind conjures a different scenario for him to explore - Akira holding himself back and lingering behind, biting his lips harder each time Akechi rips apart an enemy with bare gauntlets or a flashing red of his saber. Akechi would only resort to Loki when the feel of flesh and blood on his face isn't enough anymore - the need to see them _annihilated_ would surface and spill over like a raging volcano, commanding Loki to cast the most destructive Megidolaon it could muster; a force that would shake whole Mementos purely for the sake to see his enemies eradicated.

And when the light would fade, Akechi still high on adrenaline of yet another successful kill, another reminder that he's the _strongest-_

Akira embracing him from behind, words of praise, admiration and desire spilling from swollen lips as he tears at Akechi's metaverse clothing, growling aggressively at the countless buckles so he'd go feral and _rip_ it apart to feel Akechi against him, to remind himself that Akechi is his, just as much as Akira is Akechi's.

"Poetry in motion," Akechi shakily exhales as the scene fades before his eyes.

Shaking off lingering, enticing images that would merely get him too caught up in the moment, Akechi looks at his already protruding bulge and sighs, rubbing his temple.

Most of his way back to the hotel Akechi spends thinking about whether Akira would now prefer black or red gloves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _regarding the context: Yes, Akechi did buy hoodies because he envisioned wearing them first before he'd make Akira wear them... hmHmHmhM *me trying to squeeze some fluff into this, WHY WON'T IT GO IN*_
> 
> _As mentioned in the prequel, during heists (not Mementos), Futaba stays at the entrance. It's what makes the most sense for me since she has the range to do so, and having a flying UFO maneuver around the various tight halls doesn't really work like that, I'd wager. She'd also be in a constantly safe position to get **them** out in case something happens, but only if she's able to overcome the palace's owner's cognitive power regarding to achieve that, of course._
> 
> _I also think it'd be logical to be able to access your own palace only through your location? I mean sure, it's YOUR palace, but it's still bound to a certain place. Otherwise you could be teleporting around whatsoever oof._
> 
> This chapter was like 80% akeshu in bed lol i'm not even too sorry
> 
> **Someone people were waiting for will appear in next chapter!**   
> 
> 
> Is it Ryuji? Is it Shadow Akechi? Perhaps even cognitive Akira? Read to find out huehue (even if your anticipated person doesn't appear - they WILL, trust me. I have not forgotten about a single person (I HOPE) in this fanfic, and absence and presence serve a specific purpose!)


	10. darkness, heart bruising

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **I won't update this story next week, but I WILL post a smut one-shot instead! More info on that at the bottom note.**
> 
> Also Re-Upload. So sorry for everyone who might have gotten a double notification - I apologize T-T
> 
> For now, I'd like to thank everyone who's still on board with this. Can't believe how positive the response to this thing have been - thank you so, so much! Wow! I'm melting more and more with each comment I get, you guys are precious and I love writing for you.
> 
> This chapter feels a bit weird to me, but I've never really gotten it completely right despite re-writing a lot of passages several times. I still hope you can find enjoyment in it!
> 
> Beta-read by my lovely **BrownieQueen** who took pity on me! Now I can't use the excuse of not having one anymore huehue (but I still changed some stuff afterwards LOL I hope I didn't do mistakes there then)
> 
> Also, there's **artwork** at the end of the chapter! Something I cooked up, but no masterpiece or something even remotely fancy. Please don't expect much. The adjusted the format to a phone size (hopefully) - I just apologize to any laptop, pc and tablet user!

###  December 14th, Wednesday

With no safe rooms, having to reset each time they enter his palace is a slow, incredibly frustrating endeavor they have no other choice but to endure.

At least their training in Mementos shows signs of paying off – even after a week of grinding and gaining experience, Akechi’s shadows were barely easy to deal with, a plain contrast to the casual ease they initially defeated the same monsters with.

But now, after several more days of constantly clawing their ways through Mementos when Akechi's palace was too much of a risk to enter, it seems like they finally crossed a certain power threshold that made the monsters considerably easier to deal with.

It helps that there’s only a set amount of enemy types in every palace – still containing more variety than the Phantom Thieves are used to; not following a pattern consistent enough to differentiate properly.

The only theme they seem to share is the majestic, somewhat otherworldly aura surrounding them like an invisible cloak that regularly sends a shower down Makoto’s spine.

“ _I didn’t notice during our first raid, but… don’t you think that the monsters here are all rather pretty? Even if it's in some weird, abstract sense.”_

_Makoto sees_ _Yusuke_ _tilting his head_ _t_ _owards_ _Ann, eyebrows furrowing._

“ _I can see why they would have a visual appeal.”_

But she has never seen him frame a monster with his fingers once, and the only time he pays real attention to them is when he contemplates what places to attack.

After one of their shorter visits to the theater, Makoto approached him, inquiring why only the Victorian architecture seems to capture his interest and not the countless other creatures she would appreciate if they didn’t spawn from Akechi's rotten heart.

“ _Oh? Well, it’s quite easy to explain. Do take a close look at them next time."_

_Yusuke murmurs, absentmindedly watching his clothes change as the Meta-nav brings them back to the colder parts of Kichijoji._

_"They’re hollow. Nothing lies beneath – it’s the sort of superficial beauty that is pleasing to look at, but ultimately holds no worth, merely hiding an emptiness that tries to be filled. Meant to be admired when on display, but forgotten as soon as eyes are averted.”_

Maybe that’s also the reason why Makoto feels so unsatisfied with every kill; the promising, grand forms dissolving with no great crescendo, no matter how flashy her finishing move tends to be.

Once the Phantom Thieves scouted out each enemy on the first floor, they were able to create a certain set of routine for each monster, a drilled combo that works somewhat efficiently against the corresponding type of shadow, taking individual physique and abilities into account.

They were rarely able to target a weakness to down them, most of their spells hitting either neutral or meeting resistance, immunity and, the worst of all, drain.

A blaring observation is also how the majority of the shadows are either light or curse related - Makoto adamantly does not spend too much time thinking of the two persons in their team who were the only ones capable of wielding those types of spells.

But with hard and drilled routine came progress.

Knowing more about the monsters than before, they’ve managed to acquire a level of skill where they’re able to skip past some whenever a hiding spot enables them to do so – nothing that can be abused too often though, seeing as the shadows have a higher awareness than in any previous palace encountered, but such actions still save precious minutes every now and then.

Despite her improvements to leading the group, less hesitating and firmer when calling names and remembering techniques, Makoto still feels bad for the tempo that leaves a bit to be desired.

Haru is always the one to assure her that “It’s fine, Makoto-chan! We don’t have Akira-kun with us who is the only one capable of casting curse spells, so of course we need a bit more time without him!”

Only a bit more time - yeah.

The consolation barely accounts for anything, especially when the Akira card gets pulled, but Makoto appreciates the empathetic intention behind Haru's crinkled eyes, and supposes that what Haru initially says to make her feel better is a bitter pill Makoto simply has to swallow.

So she grits her teeth and accepts the fact that it can't be helped that they're slower, missing not only one, but two members of their team, and tells herself to be realistic and pragmatic as she focuses back on her current task to heal and back up the team against the current mini-boss they are fighting.

Since Futaba has slipped some kind of remote-controlled spying device into Akechi’s apartment (she wouldn’t tell anyone _how_ she did it, but Morgana looked positively aghast when Futaba revealed her little invention), it had been easier to listen in on his schedule when he revealed them on his phone in a work or school-related conversation or jotted appointments and specific times into the little calendar of his sparse kitchen.

Futaba's bug had a camera to help with that, streaming a constant live broadcast on one of her various monitors at home and linked with several others of her devices.

Sae’s rough outlines acquired in conversations with him helped, but the bug is simply a safer option to pick times when to infiltrate his palace or to go to Mementos. They'd still use her older sister to confirm and ensure what Futaba’s bug conveys.

December 18 th  is marked with what must be the world’s most perfect, hand-drawn circle - election day, and most likely where Shido would become prime minister with how many supporters his campaign has gained over the past months.

Although the Phantom Thieves are still unsure about the exact relationship between him and the detective, it’s apparent that they’re more connected to each other than they originally thought.

Sojiro had shared his own suspicions about the politician - that Shido had a hand in Wakaba’s research on cognitive science, forcefully pulling the plug on her and so many other scientists in an attempt to keep such information to himself.

Considering the strange way she died, it wasn’t too far off to say that a mental shutdown made her commit suicide, which would be a perfect link to Akechi’s black mask identity.

But they don’t have tangible proof for that – there were ideas that Shido’s the one ordering Akechi around to induce chaos. But since Akechi never revealed his identity, plus adding the fact that the detective clearing Shido’s very palace would go against the idea of such cooperation, it rebutted that theory.

It’s still what makes the most sense to them if they ignore that Akechi is going against the very person he supposedly causes mental shutdowns for, and the Phantom Thieves decided that they wouldn't rule that possibility out until they found more clues.

Having gotten Shido's keywords by sheer accident and whims of fate, they've been on his palace one or two times, for the purpose of gathering more information, and to get their own impression on the ship that thrives off of a ruined Japan.

So far, they’ve only confirmed their suspicions of Shido’s character with the few guests that had been willing to talk to them.

But the shadows themselves proved to be about as equally strong as Akechi’s, and they saw no purpose in clearing it when they still had their hands full with occasional missions in Mementos and the detective himself - whom they fully intend on catching entering the palace with Akira again.

Makoto hopes to catch Akechi leaving his apartment together with their leader by the use of Futaba's bug. It would give just enough time for the Phantom Thieves to gather and travel to the Diet building as well, and once inside the palace, they’d simply follow.

She's convinced that a more even fighting ground outside of his theater (lingering of cognitive personas, not to mention Shadow Akechi whom they still have to meet properly) would raise their chances of reclaiming their leader by brute force.

Alongside with the 18 th  , the 24  th is marked with another circle – more unclean, not as immaculate as the previous one, but still daringly bright.

This date confuses them a lot more than the previous one - Akechi doesn’t seem like the type of person to pay special sentiments to holidays, especially on Christmas eve, but no matter how many keywords and prompts they throw in, nothing makes even remotely sense when set in relation with Akechi’s unpredictable and complex nature.

But what stands out the most on his calendar are dates from the 14 th  to 16  th  – angry, red lines are drawn over those fields, so much pressure used that it’s ripped the paper open at some parts.

The camera hadn’t been positioned that time to catch him jotting it down, but Makoto could picture the neutral expression on his face as a tense hand conveyed what only dark eyes hinted at.

A quick rewind of the audio recording that’s omnipresent, unlike the limited angle the camera could record, it was revealed that Akechi would be away starting Tuesday evening, a _job_ keeping him in Niigata until Friday.

It meant that the Phantom Thieves had his palace all to themselves for that duration.

It’s the reason for their progress – stocked up on medicine Futaba and Ann had to beg the back-alley doctor for and using mostly physical attacks to keep their stamina up, they’ve gotten much more done than in any of their previous attempts together.

As always, Sojiro had packed them a few curries as well, wishing them luck with a grievous, but encouraging expression.

When overlapping and comparing everyone’s schedules, including Akechi, it usually leaves a two to three hour window for the Phantom Thieves to operate in until either one of them was forced to leave due to real-life business, or Akechi finished his.

Not to mention that all of their progress is always lost due to the lack of safe rooms – the only positive effect that came out of it was the involuntary amount of practice and routine they got.

“This has become quite prominent,” Yusuke mumbles, and Makoto realizes that the silver wyvern boss they’ve been struggling for a few minutes with is now finally dead, hacked and bloody pieces dissolving into black nothingness as the male sheathes his sword.

Following his gaze, Makoto sees him eyeing a vase full of blooming, pretty flowers, the exact same constellation replicated for symmetrical purposes on the other side of the room as well.

The only difference is that one vase contained red lilies, the other blue ones.

They’ve all seen the odd development Akechi’s theater is going through – how a mysterious blue slowly starts to seep into the main color scheme of red and white.

Mostly in the form of fissures littering the edges of ceilings, teasing at what lies underneath, but cracks have begun showing on the ground as well, just after their fourth visit and emitting the same, tantalizing color that glowed and occasionally even pulsated.

Nobody knows exactly what to make of it, especially since its origin is as unclear as it could be.

Makoto suggested it’s most likely associated with a slow change in overall cognition. It's a thought all agreed to despite not necessarily understanding what exactly induced it, none of them able to comprehend the full intent and extend of Akechi’s motives that managed to spawn a palace in the first place.

Makoto has an inkling suspicion, but the thought of voicing it out aloud makes her throat convulse and breath hitch.

This irregularity was yet another thing that had been added to their discussion list, but since the color doesn’t seem to have a spontaneous, physical effect aside from altering aesthetics, they tentatively decided to push the matter into the background for now.

Makoto clears her throat before walking closer to Yusuke. The blue lilies sway lightly as if an invisible breeze brushes against them, and she picks one out.

To see such an unusual color on the flower is definitely odd. Perhaps that makes the whole matter even prettier, and she silently admires how it glows akin to an ocean when she holds it high under the excessive lights.

“Hey, can you let me see?”

Crouching down, Makoto complies with Morgana’s request. She holds it out, expecting him to take it, but he leans forward instead, nose cutely scrunching when he sniffs at it.

His eyebrows furrow momentarily, but then he shakes his head, tapping on one of Yusuke’s long legs to get the artist out of his own trance.

Feeling a weird compulsion to not put it back into the vase, Makoto flings the flower away, watching it instantly wither into recognizable crumbles of dust before it even hits the grounds.

“Sorry, just thought it smelled familiar,” Morgana vaguely explains. Then, in a more confident tone, “Let’s not waste any more second! We’ve been standing around enough as it is. Good job on that boss, everyone.”

They continue clearing several more rooms and what looks like a secluded VIP lounge before their path leads them towards a large, angular double door that has their skin tingling with anticipation.

Haru is the one to push it open, revealing a large hall stretching out in front of them.

The first thing Makoto does is scanning the room for enemies. Finding none, she allows herself to relax momentarily and takes the first steps further inside.

There’s a giant fountain in the middle, and Makoto spends an entire minute trying to figure out what it symbolizes before she realizes that it really is just a whimsical constellation of various abstract and geometrical forms sprouting water.

A generous amount of tables and chairs are placed around it, giving the impression of a lobby to relax and chatter in. Long banquet tables that adorn the walls would probably make an excellent place for a buffet.

Futaba is already teasing Yusuke for being entranced by the sparse paintings Makoto only vaguely skipped over, but she is focused on the wide stairs at the end of the room, splitting into two separate ones that wind up into the same, higher area.

“The second level!” Ann cheers, and is followed by a round of relieved sounds at seeing the first, real fruits of their effort.

There’s only one blue crack disappearing under the clothes draped over a table in the far, left corner, and the lack of further changes eases some more tension out of Makoto.

“A breathtaking view despite the circumstances,” Yusuke comments, nodding in approval.

"I don't think she was referring to that, Inari."

Makoto hears the tell-tale sound of yelping and shuffling of feet, meaning Haru pinched the artist out of his stupor while sporting a charming smile on her face.

Morgana’s small form darts past her, turning around to gesture for the stairs.

“Hurry up guys! We’ve never been this far in, and we still have quite a lot of time to progress.”

“Who knows,” Haru mumbles, thoughtfully. “Maybe the safe rooms are just further in? Or something else we can use to get in or out more efficiently.”

“An emergency exit of some sort would be really nice,” Ann agrees, sighing in wishful thinking.

Makoto bites her tongue to not ruin their optimism.

The group starts ascending the stairs after they nudge Yusuke to move a second time.

Their steps are muffled by the velvet carpet draped over each slope, and before Makoto, Ann is trailing a hand over the white railing, marveling over the simple, yet elegant form that continues to expand beneath her fingers.

When they're at the intersection, deciding which way to go despite knowing both lead to the same destination, the room suddenly trembles.

A loud, heavy noise splits their hearing in half, just in time with another, bigger quake.

Makoto can barely hold her balance, finding purchase on the railing. Herr eyes dart around for the shadow responsible, but finds none.

Futaba’s panicked shriek over the mic adds to the onslaught of sensations as much as it cuts through it.

“Guys, above you!”

For a short second, they all manage to raise their heads in union, just in time to see an immense chunk of wall peeling away from its original position to slowly, but surely, fall down on them.

The Phantom Thieves forgo any idea of running down the stairs, and quick instinct makes it that from their current height they jump down over the railing, immediately breaking out into a sprint to create as much distance as possible between them and rapidly falling chunk.

An ear-numbing _whooms_ cancels out all other noise just when they pass the fountain. The tremor that rakes through the ground afterward makes each of them lose their balance, all hitting the floor instantly with pained cries.

A wave of dust envelopes them only a heartbeat later, a few pieces of debris hitting them in the sight impairing cloud, scratching Makoto’s cheek; her sturdy clothing luckily protecting her from the rest.

Makoto is disoriented, barely seeing anything while still trying to catch her breath that has been knocked out as soon as she was thrown onto her stomach.

She manages to cry out for the other's names between coughs and heaves and is relieved when she hears all of the Phantom Thieves respond, albeit in various states of distress.

Futaba must have done something, because the smoke is gone in the next second, clearing the view again.

“Uh, g-guys,” Futaba tentatively says, and the tone in her voice is something Makoto can’t quite place, especially since she’s still fighting the coughing fit trying to burst her lungs.

“I think you should take a look at this.”

Makoto rolls over on her back, sitting up and grimacing at the strain going through her body – the impromptu landing hurt her more than the actual crash, but nothing a healing spell can’t fix.

A quick look around shows that luckily enough, none of the Phantom Thieves sustained major injuries save for a few, small wounds.

“What the hell,” Ann mumbles, and Makoto looks up, wincing when a strain shoots through her neck.

She has to agree because there is absolutely no evidence of what just transpired.

Makoto saw the wall itself crashing into the fountain, yet it’s as perfect and pristine ever. The stairs and railing are intact, not a single speck of dust or any kind of debris visible on the carpet, everything is as natural as before-

Except that a good portion of pure blue greets Makoto instead of white when she searches for the gaping hole that must have been left behind as consequence.

In her obvious panic, Makoto didn’t get a very good look at the wall threatening to flatten them, but she’s pretty sure that it wasn’t just a trick of her mind.

And yet it looks like it was, a perfect, blue replica of what fell out seamlessly slotted into place instead.

Haru scrambles up next to her, rubbing her head as she blinks once, twice. “Are you seeing what I’m seeing?”

Ann is already up, groaning as she rotates one of her arms to get the feeling back. “I’m pretty sure I just saw a wall falling down on me. Or parts of it.”

“Positive,” Futaba cuts in, slightly in awe. “A good portion did actually threaten to make you flatter than a Stunfisk. Got it on video, so no way this wasn't real. Oh – have you seen the railing?”

Now that Futaba mentions it, Makoto squints her eyes at them. It’s just as mismatched in color at seemingly random parts as the wall is.

“It’s like… someone forcefully tried matching two different puzzles together,” Yusuke slowly mumbles, visibly enraptured by what just transpired.

There’s a slight bruise on his chin, but he seems unaware, too fixated on the sight before him.

Yusuke is also the first to approach and ascend the stairs again, ignoring the protest of the others.

But when he puts a hand on the shimmering blue, nothing happens, and Yusuke turns to them with a visible crease between his eyes, mask in his hand to get a better look.

“I’ve never seen something like this” he continues speaking in a slightly breathless voice.

Yusuke then walks towards the railing, letting his hand trail over the mismatched sections, and carefully inspected them with an intensity only he possesses.

To Makoto, it really looks like someone ripped two different pictures apart and tried mashing them together in a way that just doesn’t fit.

And yet there still is a certain resonance to the entire thing, an underhanded sensation that makes it feel like looking at it is natural despite the obvious flaw.

It still serves to make a wave of uncomfortableness wash over her whole body.

Makoto scrambles herself up completely, re-wrapping the loose scarf around her as she marches towards the stairs, hesitant, but more confident after seeing Yusuke unharmed.

She exhales a breath she doesn’t know she had been holding when she sets a foot on the first slope.

Nothing happens.

“Is this some kind of trap?” Makoto mumbles, slowly advancing. “Did we underestimate whatever this is?"

Then again, despite the obvious physical impact that seemingly just vanished, nothing but the change in color happened yet again.

And if it really was a trap, Makoto figures, it was too ineffective for Akechi’s standards, and a warning doesn’t seem like something he’ll do.

Not when he can just go without one.

“I don’t think so,” Morgana declares, paws, hands? On his hips. “We’ve only encountered one so far, and that was the safe room. I doubt something like this was intended.”

He goes still after that, contemplating something that is beyond her.

“Then what _is_ this?”

“I mean, didn’t we settle on a change of cognition on his side?”

“If Akira is something he wanted for so long, I doubt it’d be enough to trigger a sudden change in his palace. Still, this...”

"I mean, there were only cracks and some smaller blue parts before," Haru mumbles, one hand at her cheek. "This is the first time where it's so _big._ Not to mention we seemed to have actively witnessed what could be the procedure."

“Inari, Inari! Tell me, how does it feel? And not how it may stimulate your artistic spree!”

Yusuke makes a noncommittal hum, eyeing the cool blue again. “Not entirely organic, but not solid either. It feels...”

“Alive?” Ann tries, and Makoto turns to see her starring at the mismatched wall with both of her palms splayed over it.

“I wouldn’t call it alive,” Yusuke remarks, taking a step back as he rakes his eyes methodically over everything again, before turning and feeling the parts of the railing that had undergone the same change.

“Perhaps _conscious_ describes it the best.”

A sizable part of the wall crumbled in on them to be replaced with the exact replica just in blue – it didn’t harm them directly, doesn’t harm them now, but Makoto feels on edge, unnerved as she eyes the velvet blue.

If she squints enough, she thinks she can make out the finest lines of black darting across the surface.

“We should continue,” Morgana speaks up, reminding them of their time and making Makoto reluctantly pull away.

She turns to the group as she slides her mask back over her face. “This is certainly strange and got a bit too big for us to ignore, but we can’t talk about it when we’re in the middle of his palace. It’s a thing to keep in the back of our minds – it could help with searching for Joker as well.”

“We should discuss it in LeBlanc later,” Haru softly adds.

Yusuke nods, putting his mask back on. “It is definitely something worth remembering and mulling over. We may find more clues about this as we continue to advance.”

They agree, slowly pulling their gaze away from the irregularity, and start running up the second set of stairs like previously intended.

Makoto continues to hold her breath during that duration, but nothing else happens, and she tries not to pay attention to how when she looks down, blue occasionally streaks through the red carpet.

“Woah woah _woah!”_ Futaba’s childlike wonder drones in her ear as they take the last steps. “Would you look at that? Inari might be right!”

On the second level, it’s darker than they’re used to, and only a small lounge greets them.

A long hallway splits into two at the end of it, but they don’t need much light to see the same blue weaving itself persistently into the theater’s interior, just a lot more prominently.

It pulsates and thrives, the hallway she’s staring into looking like an artist accidentally spilled a second color over a monochrome painting.

The sight has Makoto’s hair on the back of her neck standing because she doesn’t like this one bit.

“This feels wrong,” she manages to get out, flinching when she sees the distinctive form of a female reaper slowly moving towards them.

The mismatched colors illuminate her face, revealing luscious lips twisted into an unattractive snarl.

“No,” Yusuke interrupts, exhaling as he slowly pulls out his weapon. “This means we’re on the right path.”

* * *

The first day barely feels any different.

There are times Akechi visits Akira very late, and they barely spent an hour or two together until he grumpily leaves again.

Therefor, subtracting even those don’t trigger an outward change in his awareness aside from the weird, distant knowledge that Akechi is indeed away for almost a week in the Metaverse and not just working late again.

Akira keeps himself busy with stretching exercises reminiscent of his Taekwondo times but also asks Robin Hood to fight him for longer and more than usual.

After dragging himself to the shower and shaking off warm whispers wanting to caress his skin, he spends the rest of the day in the kitchen, intending to use the last bits of energy to prepare himself a healthy meal.

Cooking turns out to be a rather easy task with the mountainous amount of ingredients Akechi bought in advance (which had been a rather amusing sight, if Akira is honest – with the amount of grocery bags in his arms _and_ dangling from them one would think he’d be away for at least a month).

He also saw Akechi putting two or three or ten instant food packages into the shelves, insisting that they provide a satisfactory result in case Akira simply didn’t feel like cooking for once.

Akira doesn’t dwell how his heart skipped a slight beat at that, and instead thinks about what food Akechi would eat while away.

If he’s going out to dinner in an expensive restaurant with a view on the sea, forgetting about Akira’s curry as he marvels over the texture of his finely seasoned fish, or if he’s going to sustain himself with boiling water and cups of ramen again.

If he enjoys that more than the food Akira makes for ~~him~~ them.

When he finishes eating, Akira realizes that he cooked for two persons out of habit, and angrily dumps the rest into the trash bin that would be clean by the next time he uses it again.

  
  


* * *

  
  


The second day, the lack of his presence definitely makes itself known, because Akira’s thoughts _stray._

Akira doesn’t dare to think too often about anything outside the here and now anymore.

Maybe it’s just his imagination – a product of fearful anticipation and survival instinct Akechi keeps challenging – but it always feels like Akechi _knows_ when Akira isn’t paying attention when thoughts wander from the current present to other directions.

And then Akechi’s eyes would darken, losing all resemblance of wispy light in an instant, and Akira would offer a silent apology with a soft, but brittle smile, forcefully keeping other thoughts out and reeling himself back to the present.

It’s a scarily easy process at times and still prevails even when the detective is away, the knowledge that he’d return at some point too prominent.

But Akira also knows that Akechi is currently in an entirely different place with no access to his own palace. It takes him a while, but then his thoughts finally break past the invisible borders they established themselves.

As soon as the first Phantom Thief related thought slowly trickles through the small opening, Akira's heart pulls together in bitter melancholy, but also aching and waiting in fear of the incoming wrath that would surely lash out at him.

It doesn't.

A distant warmth, not induced by _him_ settles into his bones and conscience instead, soothing and calming. There’s still a constant throbbing at the back of his mind, that this is _wrong_ and he’s _unfaithful_ and _what are you_ _**doing, don’t you dare-** _, But once the dam breaks, everything comes too fast for him to greedily lap up.

It feels good, refreshing, and freeing to think about everything his mind and body recently tried repressing when learning that it would only result in negative experiences in the presence of Akechi.

The Phantom Thieves obviously come forth first.

He intentionally doesn’t let himself dwell on darker thoughts and pessimistic scenarios (something Akechi wouldn’t react on when Akira thought about _that)_ , and rather concentrates on how they’re doing without him.

Is Makoto adjusting properly to the role of a leader she must have taken over? Did a new game come out Futaba wanted to go buy and play that’s more fun in multiplayer? How is Haru doing, trying to cater to her plants on the rooftop of the school alone? Is Ann having trouble dragging either Yusuke or Ryuji along because her main shopping partner is away?

He smiles when he imagines a desperate Ann trying to convince Morgana that no, she wouldn’t be easily let off the hook if it's discovered that she carries a cat with her into the stores, and no, even if she could, she’d _not_ take him inside the changing booth.

Who is Ryuji trying to convince to become his new work-out buddy? Makoto would probably be the only one to pick him up on that offer. And surely Akira isn't the only one Morgana reminds to rest and sleep, right? Does he stay in LeBlanc because the attic barely feels any different? Is Yusuke enjoying a coffee that has way too much caffeine at LeBlanc just as much as before, even without Akira? Because he came for the Sayuri and not-

The last thought goes into the exact direction Akira _didn’t_ want it to go, but the damage has already been done, and a bitter laugh escapes Akira, injects the welcoming contentment he’s currently drifting in with bits of black and red that stain and spread, curling into wispy strands.

The throbbing in his head lessens in return but makes the thoughts just a tad more distant and easier to let go if he wants to.

Akira doesn’t, keeps the Phantom Thieves close to his heart because he doesn’t possess the luxury of feeling like this as much as he wants anymore, even if thorns press unrelenting against his heart.

It hurts, Akira realizes, it hurts because he still can’t help the smaller thoughts of doubt invading his beliefs on his own.

No Akechi in his presence, not even a mocking voice in his head letting poison trickle into his ear.

Akira adamantly continues to follow his initial train of thoughts before it derailed, going over other confidants he hadn’t seen in what feels like ages.

The twins. The fortune-teller. The Shogi expert. School itself and all the weird questions and chalks thrown at him. Hell, Akira even misses the crooked, unattractive laugh of his homeroom teacher.

Or was it high and soft?

Akira lets himself be swept away as his mind wanders through shimmering memories and possible scenarios, finally having the freedom and moment to do so.

It speaks for his deprivation and desperation that even his parents invade his thoughts at some point because apparently there is no impossible equation from college left to solve and no more funny moments to develop that involve Makoto, Haru, and an iced banana, that it comes back to _that._

Is he angry at them for kicking him out due to a judgment made based on money and influence? Yes.

Does he particularly care beyond that? No, not really.

Akira supposes it would sound shocking a lot of people; the lack of care from his parent’s side.

But he grew used to it, and when people looked at him with pitying looks whenever he revealed that his father was on a three-month business trip again; and his mother spending her days glued to the TV, caring just enough to maybe dish up two or three meals a week and otherwise just putting money onto the counter (never in his hands, because that’d be too much work).

Akira had always wanted to reply with _but I don’t care as well?_

Well, maybe it isn’t that he didn’t care for them. Akira has just grown accustomed to their lack of participation in his life that he can't feel much beyond that.

He isn’t envious of what others have, because he hadn’t known what it felt like in the first place.

Akira would like to trace back his past even further and tell tales of a child abandoned by his parents, left alone to fend for himself.

But there is _nothing_ because they cared enough about him to not abort and completely neglect him. Because he indeed does have a bond with his parents in the form of documents and blood, and Akira’s life had simply consisted of breathing and looking proper in the public, free time left for him to fill up so he didn’t feel _empty._

Akira thinks the only things he’d thank his parents for is being drunk enough to forget protection during sex (he actually does enjoy living), and the fact that they send him to a Taekwondo dojang – the only effort they ever made to get him to socialize.

Well, Akira didn’t socialize with his peers because he was always the odd one standing out, learning everything too fast and surpassing even the older ones in skill.

But the activity had given him a purpose to concentrate on, a welcoming dissonance from the boring routine his life had been.

He’s always tempted to tell that story whenever his friends argue about how shitty his parents were. Akira had never brought it over his heart to shatter the seemingly perfect conclusions they drew, because surely only his parents were to blame, right?

Akira requests Robin Hood to only use physical attacks on the second day and chooses to fight in purely Taekwondo style for miserable nostalgic points.

He blocks and punches and kicks and turns and spins that the next time he’s aware of what’s happening again, he’s in the middle of his bedroom, the set of blue curtains filtering non-existent sun rays mocking him.

* * *

The third day is empty.

There’s a void, a vacuum inside of Akira that had never been present before, a sense of _lacking_ that hadn’t even been as prominent as during his childhood.

He's usually doing _something,_ school, work, friends, but all have been taken by the person who-

It’s an itch Akira wants to scratch, but can’t because his hands either simply sink deeper in when he tries to, or are not able to reach at all.

The walls around him are back, and while they still sport cracks from yesterday, they seem higher and more imposing than before.

Occasionally a happy bubble does manage to reach the surface of the ocean of his thoughts that gets darker and murkier.

There’s a short spark, a flutter of his heart that calls forth the teasing, brief flash of a beautiful memory, but they fall out of his reach in mere seconds, growing more distant and unreal, edges and lines blurring before morphing into more familiar visions of chess boards and gloves and secretive smirks exchanged over countless cups of coffee.

Akira feels miserable, the reason for it tickling his throat and wanting to burst out, but he grits his teeth and drowns himself in adrenaline and pain.

He’s angry for a reason unknown to him, but it’s such a clear, distinctive emotion in the midst of indistinctive waves that threaten to drown him that he grips and bites his teeth into it, not letting go for the duration of the night as he unleashes Arsene in the dance room.

It’s the first and last time he sees cognitive Robin Hood falling before him onto his knees.

Akira chases droplets of guilty blood with his tongue, trying not to focus how his heart soars at the victory.

* * *

He _misses_ Akechi.

But Akira acknowledges that feeling only to a certain extent, because beneath all his wants and desires to see the detective’s stupid smirks and glints in his eye again, he knows it’s inevitable for him to not behave like this if Akechi is the only person he’d been in contact with for such a long time.

And the detective who wanted to kill him, only not to and showering him in a confusing mixture of love and pain and death and affection doesn’t help this entire ordeal a bit.

It’s so incredibly hard, loads of shame and guilt at recognizing and putting a name to what finally made him best cognitive Robin Hood instantly crashing down on him.

It’s hard because it just seems so normal at this point, seeing Akechi smile and scowl at the same instance, and abnormal when Akira _doesn’t_ see it at least once a day because Akechi is regretfully the biggest source of entertainment he has – who is out of his reach.

He hates how he’s craving things he’d never known before.

Akira hadn’t been jealous of all the other children in his classes because all that was familiar to him was the mental distance between his parents, made more apparent by the physical distance of his father who rarely showed his face.

Honestly, Akira doubts he can remember his face even if he wants to.

But of course, Akechi had to be the one that introduced him to things Akira is seemingly lacking, much more intensively and deeper than Sojiro or his friend did, and it shows with every passing minute.

Warm intimate touches that bruise and soothe at the same time. Praise and acknowledgment from the only person he somewhat openly and inwardly admired, even after they dragged him through all of this.

A feeling of being desired, accepted, challenged, encouraged, all in one.

Because Akechi introduced him to what hunger and fullness could feel like and isn't around to maintain that, Akira is starting to starve.

His skin crawls and crawls and crawls, and Akira wants to do _something_ to get this feeling out of his head, preferably forever since he's unable to just seize and eliminate it.

Akira calls for cognitive Robin Hood who isn't at his post, and steps outside before he can mull it over.

No matter how hard he drives the dagger into the skin of one of the monsters roaming Akechi’s palace, no matter how large and dark the Eiha is that reaches the ceiling and flares and curls all around it – the shadows don’t budge an inch, just like his feelings, looking at him with apprehensive, but otherwise bored, disinterested eyes as soon as they realize what he’s doing.

He feels _lonely._

Maybe it's not an unfamiliar feeling to him, but it's the first time Akira can properly taste it inside of his mouth as his stomach coils uncomfortably, bitter and unpleasant all around.

Akira is left alone in his room again. Since Akechi took away his privilege of venturing out a bit more after the incident in front of the Diet building, he currently only has access to the kitchen and the dance room.

His small excursion earlier had tested those words, but Akira had stayed within the route he’d take when going to the kitchen, so he should still be ok.

Not feeling the familiar pair of eyes on him, the lack of passive-aggressive remarks filling the silence that continued to invade his room like a plague and tickling his spine – it’s, like everything else, a new experience, but one Akira doesn’t like a bit.

The persona at his door is missing (he never knows where cognitive Loki is though), he can’t go out, the Shadows are as invulnerable as in the start – Akira doesn’t know what to do, so he picks up the books in the shelve he had already read through twice and realizes that Akechi had already swapped them out at some point.

He picks out a dart-related one because Akechi keeps wanting to play 701 and that shit is _hard._ Akechi also has a built-in mechanism to always score a bullseye, and never misses an opportunity to rub it into his face.

Maybe reading about more techniques will help Akira in keeping up?

The book maintains his attention for approximately ten minutes before Akira realizes he's been starring at the second chapter title for quite a while now, the pull inside of his chest demanding his attention once more and preventing him to make sense out of the black letters.

Scowling slightly, he throws the book into a corner, sinking back onto the bed. Akira puts an arm over his eyes to block colors that remind him of a certain man’s Metaverse outfit and the velvet room.

This all is _inconvenient,_ and he shifts his arm again.

His eyes trail over the interior of the room he has long since memorized, and stop at the device Akechi left him on the night table.

It’s something he’s ignored until now, the knowledge of its presence there, but still blending into the background if Akira focuses enough.

But his lack of control over his thoughts, fleeting into every corner of his brain, messing everything up more than before enables the object to become larger in its presence to the point it feels inevitable.

So Akira gives in and picks it up, holding it in a way he would inspect an entirely unknown species.

“ _It should be easier to use in here than outside. I trust that you’ll find a suited purpose for it.”_

A grappling hook, Akechi had called it. Akira inspects the wiry rope and the hooks, and turns it to let the light reflect silver colors on black.

It looks entirely unhandy, too big for his hand and too heavy to throw more than a few meters despite Akechi’s words, and the corner of Akira's mouth twitches.

If he were to use it, it should be, well, practical and easy to handle at least.

Smaller, more technical.

Maybe fit to be strapped onto his wrist, the hook smaller to hide within his sleeve and not rip it apart if he were to shoot it out. The steely wire-thin, but still sustaining and sturdy enough to support his weight while maintaining high flexibility.

Akira nearly drops the grappling hook when the space around it shines lightly before it distorts, and by the time he catches it again, the exact replica of what he just imagined sits snugly in his hand.

_Huh._

This- shouldn’t be possible.

It’s _Akechi’s_ cognition, not his.

He shouldn’t be able to change things like that – Akira had already tried with shaping the bed, painting his room a different color.

But the only thing he seems to have powers over is how many blankets and pillows he can fit onto the bed before it bursts, and that does little to have an actual impact.

It’s not like he can drown Akechi in a sea of blankets once he comes inside. Can he?

Then again, if Akechi has enough control over his cognition to create a fake safe room, he could have given Akira enough influence to alter things Akechi gave consent to.

He must have been aware of the impracticability of the grappling hook beforehand, but still gave it to Akira with a sense of confidence.

Akira can't help a budding excitement flickers within him as he turns the now smaller device in his hands.

He straps it onto his wrist where it fits like his gloves, pulling his sleeves over it. Akira has no doubt it’ll work like he envisioned it will, and the image of him _soaring_ through the air without the aid of a wind spell further sends sparkles of excitement through his body, doing well at keeping the demons wanting to have a piece of him away.

Only one way to find out if it truly works though, right?

Since Akechi left, Akira mostly spent his time (outside of thinking) by fighting his cognitive justice persona. Combat is the only activity that manages to banish other, feeble thoughts out of his mind for longer than short periods of time.

Since Akira has already beat cognitive Robin Hood in an unpleasant memory of rage and consumption, cognitive Loki would surely follow next - maybe when Akechi is back.

Akira would not underestimate the persona whose skills are still unknown, so he’ll need an ace up his sleeve, figuratively, and now hopefully literally.

Akira stands up, changes from his previous clothes into a more comfortable turtleneck and loose pants, then proceeds to walk towards the door, leaning against it.

Well, doesn't hurt to try a second time.

“Robin Hood?”

Waiting for an answer of cognitive Robin Hood that used to guard his room until yesterday, Akira furrows his eyebrows when he still doesn’t get one.

He rubs his temple. “Loki?” he tries more tentatively, the persona’s name invoking respect within him, but there’s no answer yet again.

They can’t be patrolling right now (at least Robin Hood doesn't) – it _never_ leaves its position when Akechi isn’t here.

Just because he beat Robin Hood doesn’t mean Akira will suddenly have an easy time to get out (a shiver runs down his spine, and he quickly, quickly deters from that string of thoughts.) The persona still is capable of holding itself quite a bit against Akira, not to mention all the other shadows roaming around.

He has little desire to appear disobedient, but Akechi also told him that he’s allowed, _required_ to fight his personas on a daily basis.

How is he supposed to do that if they aren't around?

Then again, Akira muses, looking where the device is hidden, the dancing room isn’t high or large enough to test his newly acquired device, also lacking any surface where it could properly hook into.

Well, he’ll have to look for them, then.

The halls are empty, with no cognition in sight. Akira walks tentatively, loud enough so that other shadows would hear him from a distance.

The first shadows he encounters tenses when it spots Akira casually walking towards it, remembering his rage earlier, but relaxing a bit when it notices Akira's calm and controlled demeanor.

“Have you seen Loki or Robin Hood?” Akira asks quietly, hand coming up to scratch the chin of the imposing, black lion.

It rumbles, clearly mortified at being pet, but unable to resist the pleasure induced by it if the fluttering of equally raven wings is anything to go by.

“He. Pulled them. Off.”

Akira leans a bit closer and makes a point of scratching harder when yellow eyes fight against shutting close. “Which one?”

The shadow grumbles defiantly for a minute, but eventually it slumps down onto the floor. Akira doesn’t even need to kneel in order to reach the head due to its height, merely lowering his hand a bit.

When the fingers of Akira’s other hand join, the shadow growls in defeat. “He from. The beginning.”

Akira laughs humorlessly. Depending on the point of view, the phrase could apply to both, but taking in the shadow’s reason for existence, he concludes it can only refer to Shadow Akechi.

He hasn’t seen the ruler of the palace since their failed heist, but Akira has an inkling feeling that he’s been monitoring a majority, if not all, of his moves.

Akira just doesn’t know if the Shadow acting so passive is a good or bad sign, seeing as Akira imagined him to be a lot more… forceful and open to what he wants.

A person’s shadow amplifies their hidden desires and distortions by several lengths after all, but Shadow Akechi has been suspiciously silent.

Judging from how much he seemed to enjoy basking in the attention of the audience when he showcased Akira tied up in a glass cage, he thought his Shadow would make more frequent appearances, especially since Akechi is a lot more interested in Akira than he originally thought.

He still may not know to what extent exactly, but Akira would be blind if he doesn’t see the desire bleeding through maroon eyes at times, proved twice of its existence already.

Shouldn’t Shadow Akechi already try to interact with him if Akechi is that interested in Akira?

_Maybe he really doesn’t care as much as you thought._

Then again, Futaba’s shadow was vastly different from what he expected her to be as well.

“Do you think you can show me a large, empty room with a high ceiling? I want to test something out,” He finds himself asking, and the large lion’s eyes pop open.

Akira retracts as it shakes its mane before stretching his limbs like a giant cat, then straightening to its full height.

“Follow,” it grumbles, and Akira does, smiling wistfully when the black lion allows Akira to keep a hand on its flank, feeling the carded muscle shift beneath thick fur as parchment-like wings softly rustle against each other.

They descend a pair of wide, majestic stairs whose walls are horribly mismatched, maneuvering around a fountain onto the first floor again.

Akira thinks he recognizes a few of the paths he and the Phantom Thieves had taken, but he can’t be too sure with the creaks darting along ceilings, some chandeliers glowing blue instead of their previous gold.

Other monsters barely regard them, paying attention for only a few seconds before they continue their own, lazy strolls again.

Akira’s mind picks up strings of thoughts he tried dismissing when both of them jump over a large rift, splitting a reception room cleanly in half.

“This definitely has not been here before,” Akira mutters, both of them continuing their path on an ocean carpet. The shadow beside him doesn’t look at him, but Akira feels the vibrations of a low, non-threatening growl go through its body.

“We waited. A long time.”

It’s cooler in this area, a sheen of goosebumps caressing his skin even underneath his long sleeves. Akira sighs in relief when the distorted blue gives way to the familiar colors of the palace again, the warmth seeping back into his skin.

“How long has this theater already existed?”

“Long. Enough.”

Akira grimaces at the implications, and the part of him longing for Akechi cries in outrage of how much injustice has befallen him in order for a persona user to develop a palace.

They stop at what Akira recognizes to be one of the many performing halls, and with a nudge of its large snout, the door easily gives way.

Akira’s breath hitches when suppressed memories briefly lock his limbs frozen. He quickly realizes that it’s not the same stage, this one being a lot smaller, although still moderately sized.

The lion hadn’t continued walking as Akira stopped. Vaguely aware of its searching eyes, Akira forces himself to calm down, breathing through his noses as he picks up the pace again.

There’s a sort of balcony right on the opposite side of the stage. He supposes they’re some sort of VIP seats, standing high above the others with a more distanced, but perfectly clear view on what’s being shown.

They ascend the small set of stairs leading upwards the stage, and when they reach the middle, Akira feels the shadow stopping.

Sensing their incoming departure, he retreats his hand, giving the imposing figure a soft, albeit slightly cracked smile.

“Thank you for showing me,” he says, the end of his nerves slightly jittering despite there being not a single pair of eyes aside from a golden one watching him.

Perhaps it’s exactly that – standing in a room with a purpose to entertain, yet missing an audience.

The lion narrows its eyes, and Akira feels a shift of air around them.

“I see. What our lord. Means.”

“Lord?”

Akira raises an eyebrow.

Shadow Akechi certainly fits the image of one with his regal clothing, even more exaggerated and captivating than Akechi’s princely Metaverse outfit, but the term throws him off anyway.

They’re in a theater, not in a castle or military basis. Then again, something as _boss_ or _leader_ feels too underwhelming when taking Shadow Akechi’s appearance into account.

The lion’s gazes sharpen. “A predator. That does not hunt.”

Akira’s insides clench.

He doesn’t get a chance to reply, the shadow already having turned its back to him, walking towards the other end of the stage.

Akira watches his retreating form until it disappears, and then he’s alone once again.

Weird sensations still cling to his frame, and Akira tries shaking them off.

He has come here to test out his grappling hook, not to wage a useless war inside his mind yet again.

Concentrating with the third eye the traitorous Igor bestowed upon him, he scans the hall, noting several points his hook could attach to.

Ornaments at the top of the two pillars upholding the ceiling, their design extravagant and deep enough for claws to sink into. The railing around the balcony. The poles where red curtains would hang as well, and the main chandelier in the middle of the room, looking strong enough to hold even more than one body.

Adjusting his gloves as he summons his thief outfit, Akira envisions how he wants to use the chandelier to get onto the balcony.

Once he takes another, calming breath, Akira promptly lets his right arm shoot forward.

The grappling hook ejects with a whirring sound, hooks perfectly around one of the thicker arms upholding glittering sources of light, and the floor gets pulled away from underneath his feet as Akira flies upwards.

The chandelier comes closer way faster than anticipated, and Akira realizes he's about to collide with the incoming object.

He detaches, flies through the air for a few seconds as the force still catapults him some distance, but then he descends just enough to not bash his head in, and barely manages to catch himself between two rows of plush seats.

The adrenaline Akira previously didn’t register catches up, flooding his body like a hot shower, and smile blossoms on his face.

He hadn’t quite used the grappling hook as to swing to the balcony like he envisioned, and instead just monotonously let himself be pulled towards the chandelier, but Akira doesn’t doubt he'll get it right in no time.

Akira spends the next few minutes testing the possibilities and limits, enjoying the rush of air around his ears each time he manages to get a more successful stunt, glad for the distraction that isn’t fighting.

It’s fast and convenient, doesn’t take him too much time to adjust to, and while Akira knows he will have to practice with the grappling hook as much as he does his kicks and spells, it’s a wonderful, utility-based addition to his arsenal which opens a lot more possibility in fights.

It’ll definitely come in handy with Loki.

His heart surges uncomfortably when remembering the very person he tried forgetting by immersing himself in the newly acquired device, but Akira can’t really shake it off when Akechi was the one to give him the hook.

Starting to run from one end, Akira fires the wire to the railing in an attempt to swing in a wide arch clockwise to the other end of the stage.

Had there been some hidden meaning in Akechi giving him the hook? Was it to make him feel indebted of sorts, now that Akira obviously found a good use for it?

Akira does feel inclined to show some sort of gratitude, no matter how many other thoughts pop up that he shouldn’t continue falling into the hole Akechi is so generously pulling him in.

Akira grips the rope tighter. He hasn’t felt any sort of expectation or responsibility bestowed upon him when Akechi dropped the handy device in his hands as if it were a mere coincidence of him that managed to align with Akira’s ability and goals.

But Akira had been able to _change_ the grappling hook in a cognition that doesn't belong to him, meaning what Akechi did had been fully intentional despite trying to come over as nonchalant.

Akira shudders from cold and warmth.

He clumsily lands on the other side of the stage, barely able to prevent an imprint of his face on the sleek floor.

There's the shortest change of airflow behind him, and only thanks to his training does Akira's mind goes blank as instincts take over.

A gasp escapes his lips when his attack _still_ gets blocked, a hand around his wrist stopping the descend of a blade, holding it with an iron grip.

His dagger uselessly clutters to the floor when the fingers tighten.

Akechi isn’t back, and if they were able to block him at such speed, that could only mean-

“Good reflexes,” Shadow Akechi purrs, looming over him with a wide, toothy smirk.

“Thanks,” Akira manages to say in a nonchalant tone as if his legs aren’t shaking from the heavy, all filling presence of the other that makes him equivalent to that of an entire audience.

Shadow Akechi’s eyes widen, a silent _ooh_ escaping his lips, and then the grin is back as he pulls Akira closer by his hand, so much that Akira has to reel his head back to not bump their nose or anything else together.

Akira wants to get closer because it’s _Akechi,_ but at the same time it’s not and while his body is soaring at seeing the face it longs for, his mind stays confused.

His fingers find purchase on the white military coat of his, immediately using the surprisingly hard surface to push himself off and gather some distance.

It works to only some extends, seeing as the Shadow still hasn’t released his hold on Akira, but he’s not as close as he otherwise would have been.

“Although I’d wager it is quite unbecoming to attack the ruler of a palace,” Shadow Akechi almost pouts, fingers tightening even more.

Akira grits his teeth in response, trying to suppress a whimper at the pressure threatening to crush and snap bones.

Shadow Akechi shares the unmistakably same appearance of Akechi sans his outfit, but there are more or less subtle differences Akira notices now that neither of them are saying anything, Akira too careful, Shadow Akechi too amused at watching him squirm.

The auburn hair is a barely noticeable amount longer and frames his face just a tad wilder, similar to how Akechi looks when the aftermath of a wind spell hits him.

His eyes a shade more intense, giving Akira the impression they’ve been crafted out of the blood of his enemies, and the smirk currently adorning full lips sits more snug and comfortably than Akira is used to.

A lot wider as well.

His eyes travel lower – a high collared coat with unused sleeves that sits snugly on Shadow Akechi’s shoulders, two chains preventing it from falling off of them.

Two, three- a lot of medals glint teasingly from where the coat doesn’t hide his uniform which is an immaculate white, save for the buttons and belt that are black. Golden accents prevent the uniform from possessing a complete monochrome look; rims and the occasional, small pattern on the sleeve painted in the royal color.

A sword rests at the Shadow's hip, something Akira hadn’t noticed before.

Realizing he’s been staring for quite a while; Akira hastily pulls up his eyes.

Shadow Akechi is as imposing and regal as ever. His posture is perfection, back as straight as if somebody held a ruler against it, and his inquisitive gaze is meticulous as it stares him down, only the amused smirk giving him away.

Shadow Akechi is as inconveniently attractive as real Akechi is, just in a more dangerous, aggressive way.

Akira isn’t ashamed to admit that, seeing as even objectively speaking his words contain the truth, but it doesn’t prevent the familiar heat creeping up his cheeks as Shadow Akechi continues to dissect him with his gaze alone, leaning even closer.

A sudden spike of raw fear goes through him when Akira looks to deep into eyes that should have been golden.

In a split-second Akira takes a step into the Shadow’s direction, his actions briefly catching him off-guard. Akira spins around, twists under his own, restrained arm, pulling up his elbow to slam it into the vulnerable location of a solar plexus.

The taller catches his incoming elbow with an open palm, tilting his wrist subtly so that the rest of the impact slides by. Akira doesn’t have a chance to retract his hand and gain his distance when Shadow Akechi’s hand glides further down his free arm, fingers enclosing around a fragile wrist, proceeding to use Akira’s momentum against him to now fully twist his arm on his back.

A slight tug and Akira is forced to close the remaining distance between them, stumbling a step backward. The only thing separating Akira’s back fully from Shadow Akechi’s front being his twisted arm acting as a pseudo barrier.

“So eager to dance today,” he hears him rumble in an amused, low tone. “If you wanted a dancing partner, you should have just said so.”

“I did,” Akira grits out, remembering how he called for both Robin Hood and Loki back in his room. “But somebody told me that you pulled everyone off their posts.”

The chuckle is dangerously close to his ear, distracting Akira from the pain on both of his wrists a bit.

He steels his inner resolve, determined to not fall into another trap induced by physical closeness and touch, especially not at the hands of a cognition, no matter how much his skin sings at being finally, finally touched again, please-

Akira completely freezes up when he feels Shadow Akechi burying his nose in his tousled strands. There’s a shaky exhale that both makes his stomach drop with heat and fear.

With a sudden burst of strength, Akira stumbles forward, feeling like the claws of a deep, terrifying sea barely allowed him to escape, only reluctantly releasing their hold on him. He whirls around once he's free, one hand instinctively coming up to massage the strained skin of his wrist.

Shadow Akechi remains unimpressed as if he never moved in the first place, but the low grin dancing on his lips speaks for itself.

He’s showing a lot more expression through his face than his counterpart, Akira realizes.

The larger tilt of the corner of his mouth, the eyebrows continuously used and drawn into a position most befitting of his current mood.

Clenching his fist, Akira blocks out the pictures of comparison wanting to follow.

He can’t summon his persona outside of the dance room due to Akechi’s cognitive influence, and judging by how Shadow Akechi managed to dodge such a fast attack within a short time-frame, he doubts he’d be any closer to beating him than beating Akechi.

Akira wouldn't go down, not nearly as easily as in the beginning – but strangely enough, even if the Shadow isn't doing anything, Akira's nerves are completely on edge as if facing an entire horde of shadows by himself.

A sense of raw danger being emitted; the image of a maw that will snap close if he dares to linger long enough.

So Akira dives for his dagger, gripping it with newfound fervor born out of slowly surfacing desperation to do _something._

He twirls around, ready to attack.

Shadow Akechi raises an eyebrow, clearly enjoying himself as he slowly reaches for the hilt of his sword with his right hand.

His smile grows more serious once he fully unsheathes it, teasingly licking the blade before laying it on his left one’s open palm.

“Would you indulge me in this dance then, dove?”

“I’m no dove,” Akira grits out, irritated.

Despite Akira having been the one to react first, Shadow Akechi still managed to catch him off-guard earlier in what should have been a surprise attack – but Akira is better prepared for the other’s speed and reflexes this time.

Judging by the other sides’ lack of movement, Akira decides to take the first step again, so he swings his blade, changing direction and grip mid-air into a reverse one.

His opponent grins as he sidesteps to evade the feint, and Shadow Akechi's arm is already wound up to drive his sword through ribs and heart.

Akira’s foot instantly shoots up, leg creating an almost perfect, vertical line, hitting the wrist just in time that the tip of Shadow Akechi’s sword only tears parts of his vest.

Despite the force behind the kick, it only sends the Shadow’s whole arm into the air instead of the weapon, but Akira quickly pulls his legs back in, letting familiar movements channel his adrenaline.

He spins on the ball of his feet, raising his leg to land a spinning hook kick right into the side of Shadow Akechi’s face.

Predictably, a hand comes up to dodge the incoming blow, but Akira grins, knowing the kick’s nature. Its strength and momentum would still cause damage, even if the impact is weakened.

The kick connects despite the block, sending the Shadow stumbling a few feet away as he grips his head immediately.

In some other time, Akira would have hesitated at attacking further. But he can’t allow himself to stop, diving low with his dagger to slice a stomach from the bottom up.

“I didn’t expect you to use martial arts so early on me,” Shadow Akechi laughs, a bit shakily, but already recovered as he _jumps_ over Akira’s attempt completely.

The thief is barely fast enough to turn around and direct the tip of a sword intended to gouge one of his eyes out to the side, and has to duck under another swing that would have otherwise severed his body into half.

Akira’s confidence at having a considerably better start than the first time diminishes a bit when Shadow Akechi closes in faster than before, a shove sending him crashing to the ground.

“I don’t do that with just anyone,” Akira gasps out, rolling over to avoid being pierced in his mid-section.

He attempts to swipe Shadow Akechi’s legs away, but the other simply jumps over the low kick.

Upon landing, the Shadow starts sending a flurry of pierces down onto the ground, which Akira evades by pushing himself backwards.

A step on the tail of his coat prevents him from scooting back further, and Akira’s instincts flare as his brain quickly goes through the options he has left in rapid-fire with his disadvantageous position.

He expects mind-numbing pain, but Shadow Akechi's sword stops right at his throat’s expanse, barely nicking his skin.

“Oh, I consider it an honor, dove.”

He suppresses the snarky comment lying on his tongue when he realizes that all Shadow Akechi needs to do is press a little further to end everything.

Akira curses inwardly - he should have never fed his healing persona into Arsene.

A stinging sensation pulls him back.

The sword at his throat is trembling in the faintest of motions, and Akira's eyes shoot up, watching white gloves stretch around a handle to their limit because _is he holding_ _his sword_ _back or trying to drive it into his throat?_

Ignoring the rational part of his mind that screams at him that what he just thought of is _not_ a good idea, Akira grips the trembling blade before anything further happens.

Sharp pain explodes in his hand when it cuts through the red material separating steel from skin, but Akira is relentless, directing the blade past his throat and _pulls._

Shadow Akechi, clearly not expecting him to hurt himself in favor of trying to get out of the situation, snarls as he’s being tugged forward, yet not wanting to loose his grip on the weapon.

His left hand reels back, no doubt intending to crash into Akira’s face or throat, whatever he reaches first – but Akira is faster, pushing himself up to deliver a headbutt.

Akira winces as a dull pang throbs in his head, but Shadow Akechi clearly took most of the brute force. The clenched finger around the sword lose their grip as the Shadow stumbles back.

Akira kludges a bloody hand to his stomach, shakily standing up.

The pain is there, but now that he’s actively aware of it, it dulls in comparison to what he’s already had to deal with, so he lets it hang limp against his side again, clenching and reveling in the hot ache pulsating from the center of his hand.

Akira vaguely registers that his dagger has also left him at some point.

It’s a strange sight – Shadow Akechi’s presence had felt drowning, threatening to suffocate him, and yet he’s the one on the ground, dazzled expression slowly morphing into one of apathy.

It still feels like Akira doesn’t have the upper hand, despite having been vastly more successful against his counterpart.

He also gets the inkling suspicion that he's somehow losing ground as the Shadow's presence starting to feel like it's creeping more and more upon him.

“I came here to offer you some advice, seeing as I’m slowly starting to get tired at holding myself back.”

Shadow Akechi pushes himself up by his knees, the heavy drag of a white coat making dull noises as it glides over the floor to follow the movement.

He exhales, running a hand through his hair as gleaming, red eyes close.

Shadow Akechi's fingers twitch. “Don’t you think it’s a bit unfair? I’m supposed to be the ruler of this palace, and yet he’s the one holding the reigns.”

He holds out his hand, and the sword lying somewhere behind Akira flies into the awaiting palm before the thief can react.

“I’ve taken pity on him, but he’s taking so damn _long._ I could snatch you away so easily, dig my fingers into that delicate skin of yours until it breaks.”

Said appendages roughly grab his chin, and Akira’s words are flushed down the rain when Shadow Akechi is suddenly mere inches in front of him.

“Ohh, how much I _want_ to.”

He swears he sees the white clothes flashing black once, but when Akira blinks again in his stupor, the previous color with its familiar, golden edges greets him.

Akira is falling, drowning as primal fear starts to caress his throat with long, razor-sharp claws, threatening to suffocate and dig into him.

“The actual you really is much prettier,” Shadow Akechi hisses, eyes narrowed and displaying so much desire of all kinds that it’s hard to look away, not when death is the most prominent one.

They do really look like gemstones made out of blood, glowing even when the light doesn’t hit them.

Akechi’s eyes are already piercing, ever searching for weaknesses and opportunities he could exploit and twist to his favor, but Shadow Akechi feels slower, heavier as they study every inch of his face, a phantom sensation of what could be sweat- _water_ \- **blood** \- dripping onto his skin.

Akira’s heart beats so rapidly in his chest that he fears it will burst any second now, and yet his limbs are locked into their place, no matter how much he tries to move them.

“A shame,” Shadow Akechi continues, voice a prayer and a sin, “that I’m a slave to this palace just as you are.”

Akira’s brain shortcuts.

“W-what?”

Slowly starting to register his words, their proximity, and the _ease_ in which Shadow Akechi could kill him in any second now – Akira can’t believe his words, not when the _killing intent_ all around him is so damn real - Akira’s hands suddenly flies forward in a desperate attempt to distract him and get _out._

It gets grabbed and turned. A soft, mocking kiss is placed on the backside of his bleeding hand.

It felt like vicious teeth tore into the flash, intend to mirror the gap on the other side.

“Oh, was I mistaken?” Shadow Akechi faintly mumbles into his knuckles.

“I lectured him for his slowness, and yet it seems like he isn’t the only one at fault...”

Shadow Akechi sheathes his sword as he reels back, and the action looks like it costs him as much energy as the previous blows they exchanged.

“You’re averting your eyes from the truth – cease doing that at once. You will drag both your and my suffering unnecessarily long out.”

Akira’s head spins from too many sensations and questions at once.

His suffering?

He idly realizes that his chin isn’t in anyone’s grip anymore - the Shadow is standing several feet away from him, arms crossed over a broad chest.

Akira drops to his knees, suddenly drained of all energy and barely able to get the loose threads of his jumbled self together because he knows he just avoided death by a hair length.

As Shadow Akechi watches how Akira tries to get his breathing back under control, mirth dances in his eyes.

“...Focus more on your center when mid-air. Do not just let yourself be dragged – _lead_ the grappling hook as much as you follow it. Treat weapons of any kind as inanimate objects, and you'll never unleash their full potential.”

And Akira is left alone, possibly hollower and emptier than before at the reminder that this is the hunting ground of not only one predator.

**.**

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Check out[this lovely artwork](https://www.instagram.com/p/CIemtorlIL0/?igshid=5fdu299ukhqp) by [gabbyslovelymisfits](https://www.instagram.com/gabbyslovelymisfits/) for one of my favorite scenes in this chapter! Thank you so much, really!**
> 
> **Sorry I know I'm no twitter / insta worthy artist but I really needed to share my military uniform Shadow Akechi vision >_>**
> 
> **First I'd like to clarify that I used an already existing picture for him I'm not particularly gifted with creating stuff by myself, so I traced that artwork's outlines (which I'd give the source for but unfortunately it's just a lone pic in my gallery from like two years ago), re-colored it a little, and changed the face. The face and the mess of 'details' are probably the only thing I did myself. Just wanted to give a quick heads-up in case you may like it and think 'woah she did it by herself'. No, I didn't, I cheated. Doesn't even look too much like Akechi tbh HAHA I'm sorry :)**
> 
> _regarding the context: I keep referring to Futaba speaking over a mic, but it's really just a linked 'message' system. None of the Phantom Thieves have actual mics to speak into, but her persona enables to connect the stuff she says in her UFO to the others which they perceive as someone talking into their ear._
> 
> _Futaba created the bug I'm speaking about last chapter and sent Morgana off to climb up to Akechi's apartment to throw it inside his window when it's open. It's a small, spider-sized thing with a camera and audio recording that she can control, helping in keeping track of him._
> 
> _The shadows I'm talking about in Akechi's palace don't necessarily exist in the persona series, seeing as I just randomly generated them myself._
> 
> _If you're questioning what happens left and right - I sincerely hope this isn't too out of place or irrational for you to keep you from reading further! The development that will still come is, if I may call it that, actually pretty decent and will start making a lot of sense once we get to that point. Really hope I didn't turn you off with this chapter though._
> 
> _Shadow Akechi makes his... third appearance in this series! I actually thought about him for a very long time, and even though I now have his role firmly implanted into the story, his character is so elusive to write for me. Even as the author I can't seem to properly grasp his character lol and yet I still know how I want him to be? He's... complicated. I did do myself a bit of fanservice though, hehe._
> 
>   
>  **Now to the planned one-shot!**
> 
> EDIT: It's already written and posted! Since I'm incompetent with html and link work, please just go onto my page and look for the fic called 'when the sun is swallowed by the moon'. Otherwise you can just make it out with the tags lol. Contains bottom Dragon!Akiren :3c


	11. a ray of light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick reminder that this is POV hehe
> 
> This chapter isn't beta-read because I dumped like 25k words on mine for the last two weeks, and I wanted to give her a small break because she deserves it. Be on the lookout for another one-shot in the next two weeks (that really is just fanservice and porn)!
> 
> Thank you for being so patient with me and still reading this!

###  December 16th, Friday

As soon as Akechi steps into his empty apartment, he puts his briefcase down, throws his luggage into a random corner and promptly pulls out his phone to navigate inside his palace.

The plane ride hadn’t been long, _and_ he was using business class (there’s no way in hell he’d share his row of seats with random, disgusting people who could very well turn out to be his fans, making the ride all the more unbearable – Shido made the mistake of booking economy _once_ and Akechi learned since then to argue for higher class), but he’s still damn tired.

Also because he saw Shido’s face everywhere he went, a steady reminder of what is both his failure and success.

He barely slept on the plane, but all Akechi wants right now is to _see_ Akira for real after having gone through internal torment for the past few days of not being able to.

Akechi needs a physical proof, more than just his own, repetitive assurances that Akira is waiting for him. Not merely empty air, not just a cognition.

Breathing, _real_ Akira, expressive eyes that entice and push Akechi simultaneously, planes of skin for him to trace and caress as much as he’s prone to marking and hurting it when the rush of battle entangles Akechi’s senses.

Apparently it didn't, or something else is wrong.

He quickly navigates through the blue halls, enters the upper levels, and stops at the familiar glass doors to catch glimpses of fire and death. But the emptiness that greets him catches him off-guard – around this time, Akira is usually training, a procedure Akechi anticipated to have only solidified with his absence.

Flicker of anxiety carve their way inside his stomach. Akechi _knows_ Akira can’t escape, not with Shadow Akechi here, not with the monster patrolling the halls whose sole existence is to hinder Akira from advancing-

Not when he just established himself as superior only recently yet again.

It doesn’t hinder doubt from pulling itself out of the carefully managed darkness inside of him, wallowing in the paths surfacing trepidation left. Every step Akechi takes gets gradually louder, the silence in his own manifested cognition making his teeth grit and eyes darken because what _if?_ What if despite all his careful calculations, the least possible scenario occurred just to mock him once again?

Akechi knows he could simply let himself connect on a more vague level with his palace to get information. To dip into his own stream of consciousness that build this palace in the first place, but his thoughts are in a rare state of urgent _mess_ that it hinders him from doing just that.

Akechi needs to find Akira. Preferably within the next minute, or else he doesn’t know how to feed and close the rattling maw inside of him.

Before he knows it, he’s standing in front of Akira’s door. The bright, golden **A** shimmers white where it reflects the light, and it would have blinded him some other time.

Right now, his grip on his surrounding is exceptionally dull; dread swallowing him up, submerging his senses into murky depths where Akechi knows he’ll have trouble finding out.

Akechi exhales and turns the knob, pushing the door open.

It’s a faint line he’s threading on, his sanity held together by a single strand that is difficult to find, hidden beneath layers and layers of carefully woven deception worn like a heart on someone’s sleeve, but easy to cut once spotted.

Akira is on the flat of his back, legs propped up against the headboard of the bed, invested in a book.

He’s wearing the black shirt and pants Akechi changed him into for the first time – and for some reason, seeing him in that same outfit makes a drop of calmness fall into the storm Akechi feels wanting to take hold of him.

Most of his jumbled, irrational worry and anxiety dissolves until Akechi is a little breathless when he takes the first step inside.

It’s not a particularly impressive scene to come home to – the opposite, really.

Akira paints a ridiculous picture, reading his book in possibly the worst position for anyone to digest the information written across countless of pages properly - but after having been separated from him for so long, to _not_ have the absolute certainty of knowing where he is...

Seeing Akira in the clothes Akechi bought for him, splayed in such a silly position typical for him on the bed – his heart aches in the sweetest way possible, and the rest of his negative emotion gets washed away when a rare tenderness settles inside of him instead.

Akechi itches to close the distance, to bury his head in artful curls that he knows smell of faint flowers and coffee. He clears his throat instead, because the next moves are important, and Akechi fears he’ll miss an important opportunity if he were to do anything rash now.

Despite his resurfacing confidence, the words still lie heavy on his tongue.

“I’m… home.”

Akira looks like a deer caught in headlights when his head jerks around. A teal book dangles from only his fingertips now, looking like it’d fall onto his face any second. Akira visibly fights with himself for a few seconds, corners of his mouth twitching. He’s already retracting his legs as he sits up into a proper position, putting the book away in favor of standing up.

Only a few seconds pass as Akira closes their distance, but Akechi’s grip on time has been malleable since he laid sight on him.

Akira stops about an arm length away, and Akechi doesn’t think he’s ever wanted to touch something so bad _._ It’s... not a fire ignited in his stomach that urges him to, but rather the need to calm one, to let the lingering bits of darkness disappear by pressing the other to himself.

Akechi raises an eyebrow at him instead, unable to read the other’s face with how it’s tilted towards the ground.

Anticipation and uncharacteristic nervousness gnaw at his resolve to not reach out, all locked away behind a mask of careful neutrality that could easily break if Akira would want it to.

Akechi lets his eyes trail downwards, and see’s the fight Akira is still having – the repeated clenching of a hand, the tensing of his stomach, barely visible under the large shirt. The short, breathy exhales Akechi can hear even more due to their proximity, and yet it still feels like there’s a certain distance between them by how neither make an attempt to close it.

It’d be so easy – a nudge of his shoulder, the offering of a gloved palm that hides fresh blood trickling into bone underneath.

Akechi has envisioned this encounter far too many times to count, all with different endings. Akechi’s favorite is most likely the one where he has arms full of Akira, tears of blatant joy staining the fabric of his peacoat, words of love whispered against his ear.

Admittedly, Akechi knows Akira didn’t make _that_ much of a progress for that to occur yet – but it’s still appropriate to think about such possibility if you have the certainty that it will happen at some point; merely a question of time.

What never crossed his mind, though, is Akira gripping onto his coat with one hand while leaning his forehead against Akechi’s shoulder.

“You’re- awfully late.”

A laugh follows. Brittle and jittery, but beautiful like a shy snowflake melting on his palm.

And so, so close, almost next to his ear, his mind working fast to decode and translate-

Akechi fears of manipulation, of Akira getting under his skin on purpose, answering with a similar line he had shared that one evening - only to take it away, to cruelly rip the _hope_ away that’s starting to emerge. So he grabs Akira’s chin with a careful, but firm touch, and slowly lifts it up.

The next breath gets stuck in Akechi’s throat.

He sees familiar guilt – always present, the hardest to get rid of due to Akira’s lofty morals chaining him down, the bond yet not properly severed – and other plateaus of what could be shame, but Akechi searches, continues watching, waiting for the curtain to unravel and show him one of many performances he’s been aching for.

There’s fear.

But not directed at him, and beyond that-

It feels like a bullet lodges itself into his heart, and instead of going through, it stays.

_Relief._

Beneath all the smokes and mirrors and what Akechi is steadily working to break through, Akira is _relieved_ in an instinctual way – he’s mindful to not fully touch Akechi like his body might be screaming him to, ever-present conscience still able to prevent him from doing that.

But with the sheer, desperate strength Akira is bunching the tan material of his coat between his fingers, Akechi knows all he needs.

Akira must have experienced something negative, and because Akechi had been away – the only human presence he had him accustomed to, grown dependent on over the course of the last months – that incident must have had a way greater impact than it usually would, baring open mental, possibly even physical vulnerability Akira could do little against, having no one but himself to find reassurance in.

And how could Akira try to console himself if he spends most of his time trying to reattach the pieces Akechi breaks off of him?

Happiness is such a sappy, bland and general word Akechi absolutely loathes using. But considering that his usual eloquence left him at some point, it’s really the only word he can think of to try and describe the warmth invading his limbs.

_Akechi is already important enough for Akira to seek refuge in him._

“Did you-” Akechi can’t finish his sentence for once, words dying halfway through their articulation.

His skin is flaring up, and the rush of blood in his ear doesn’t distract Akechi from feeling the bullet in his heart open, letting wonderfully poison spread further.

It nourishes the roots that have already wounded themselves deep in his heart – and Akechi lets them, revels in the absolute _control_ he has in this situation.

Did Akira really…?

Akechi wants to force him open, dig through skin and see for himself, but he doesn’t, forces his one arm to stay limp, the other relenting its grip on his chin that he had yet to relinquish.

It’s sinful; how easily Akira lets his head fall onto his shoulders again.

“Please,” he hears Akira whisper, and the small voice wears deprecating defeat, the despondence practically dripping from it. “D-do what you want, just- Don't leave me alone again. Please.”

Akechi doesn’t know how the smile on his face looks like, but it stretches so wide that he’s sure it’d be painful if it weren’t for how _good_ he feels, how his emotions rise with triumph.

_Akira missed him._

_**He** is needed. _

“Let me be-” Akira breaks off, clearly fighting for his words. “Let me be selfish for once. It’s ok, right? Just this once. Just this… once.”

Akechi had expected this to go a bit more differently – hesitance on Akira’s side. That Akechi would have to tear down the barrage of feeble lies Akira tried building around himself during Akechi’s absence. To make him realize that yes, Akira did miss him, no matter what he buried surfacing, instinctual needs under.

But this is way better than Akechi had dared to anticipate.

This is… almost perfect.

Something had clawed itself into Akira so deeply and irreparably, giving him a frightening mess of an experience that it made him seek out Akechi’s presence himself.

Akira had finally begun to accept parts of Akechi, realized that he needed it, no matter how much his conscience might be suffering along with that decision.

And Akechi wants to pull Akira in, to completely swipe him off his feet and reassure him that no one will hurt him – to tilt his chin up again and kiss what his vast vocabulary can’t convey, to encourage his grip on Akechi with a mere tug of his body.

He doesn’t.

This is… a type of fragility Akechi has to reciprocate with gentle, open guidance that would encourage the other’s actions passively.

So Akechi merely lifts his hand, laying it on top of Akira’s head in a silent offer, but remains immobile otherwise.

The maw inside of him shuts immediately, contently rumbling with how black strands feel again his gloves.

Akira just sags a tad bit more into him, and that little gesture of _trust_ alone means more than any other physical touch Akechi could have initiated.

Akechi doesn’t know if he should be grateful or spiteful what he knows his Shadow is responsible for, but he supposes it’s time he pays him a visit anyway.

After all, they still have things to discuss, and maybe Akechi could use this new predicament to his advantage even more.

* * *

Mementos changes.

And maybe not in the way one would try to perceive – Yusuke knows he can get easily enraptured by superficial aesthetics, but Akira had showed him to look beneath the surface.

Beneath what people expect from him, expect from art he creates (should create), but also from society and every other person around him.

Surely – humanity’s collective consciousness changes in physical appearance with each floor as well. Be it the pattern that is different, the monsters that dwell around, or the more apparent ones, when bones start to claw their way through walls and the eerie mass of indistinguishable, organic tissue gets more and more prominent, looking like nightmares solidifying.

But Mementos has also undergone a different kind of change, and that has less to do with _it_ , and more with _them_ – the grim expression on everyone’s faces. The lack of Morgana’s condescending talk, the way they tear through countless of shadows with a bitter resolve hardened by the absence of two comrades.

Yusuke muses that a few months ago he would have noticed those changes, yes, but not to the extend he’s now able to dissect them.

He wouldn’t have realized _why._

He would have mainly focused on the nature of the physical changes themselves; but Akira taught him to think further.

_How_ those changes occur. Why they do, because nothing happens without a reason – even if the artist really did think of nothing when choosing to color the flowers in the background white, there were still countless of unseen decisions made.

The meaning of the color itself. The relation to its surroundings and objects, the integrity woven into the picture on deeper levels one look, two looks cannot hope to decipher.

Those may not have been the artists mind as he just dipped the brush in white paint, but those decisions were made _subconsciously_ _,_ and it’s only a matter of paying enough attention to see the invisible process behind the thoughts itself.

It’s ironic, how Yusuke is able to see how much Akira and Ryuji were affecting the group on so many different levels. How much of a foundation their _leader_ was. Even more than that – unconditional support as far as he can recall, and constructing a guidance around them so that all they need to do is hold on.

Yusuke thought he had already reached a deeper sense of artistry when Akira talked to him about all kinds of insightful and inspiration things despite claiming to have no sense for art in the first place.

Yusuke had been foolish and naïve, because if he would have been as _aware_ and conscious of everything as he is now, realizing how much of an impact Akira had on their group, Yusuke would have done something before.

Anything to not lose his grasp on him.

He would have seen how Akira’s smile started appearing just a tad too late. How the layer of make-up underneath his eyes had gotten more prominent; how he always insisted he was fine, yet continued lingering around as if waiting for them to say more than a skeptical _ok, if you say so._

Yusuke would have maybe also seen how Akira looked at Akechi, and how the detective looked back whenever Akira was distracted by something else.

Oh, he had _seen_ it, sure.

But fleeting, short moments like these either mean more than any words or colors could possibly hope to capture, or are really nothing but meaningless antics that the body is prone to react with at times.

Yusuke knows he had written it off as the latter, not even daring to think about the other possibility.

How can he claim himself to be an artist, a _newly_ inspired artist with the help of Akira if he failed to broaden his perspective yet again? Is the aspect of failure that much of a deep-rooted fear within him that he didn’t dare to change his point of view and try to see things in a different way?

Would he have then questioned _why_ Akira behaved like this, why Akechi looked like he wanted to run his sword through Akira’s chest in a true deceleration of love?

If Yusuke failed to look underneath the underneath of both of them, simply because one option of the truth was too unpleasant and spoke of ~~his~~ their failure - what kind of artist does it make him?

Granted, he didn’t think Akechi’s… enthrallment would to evolve to such lengths – but the signs had been there, if Yusuke only saw _and_ questioned them.

Oh, Akechi is a master at deception. He knows how to play everything off, how to flirt and imply, yet never insist and suggest. Akechi is frighteningly good at letting others think they understand him even through his secretiveness while actually the total opposite is the case.

Perhaps Yusuke shouldn’t beat himself too much over that regard, because Akechi had hidden his fascination with their leader to a degree where it might be only comprehensible in retro-perspective, when everything is already too late.

When their leader was at his lowest – a mere week before the faithful confrontation, exhausted from his jobs because Yusuke has the inkling suspicion all the shiny new gear and medicine they get don’t only come from the rewards they get from Mementos and Palaces – the detective had swept in for the kill, stealing Akira away from them.

Right at the moment when Akira longed for something beyond simple company more than ever, yet not having a single person, not even _Yusuke_ whom he taught to pay attention to such things do that – Akechi had established himself in a new relation to Akira that makes it difficult to deal with him because it could break their leader along with it as well. Yusuke is sure of that.

Akechi humiliated Akira in front of everyone, touched him in ways Yusuke is prone to dream about when his desperation and guilt twist his nightmares into a mockery of a dream, taunting him each time he wakes up in a mixture of dread and arousal, guilt pooling low in his gut.

And Yusuke is afraid, because in hindsight, after everything that happened, at least the cracks in _Akira’s_ mask should have been obvious.

Yusuke is afraid that Akechi, perhaps the only person who never relied on Akira and made their leader chase _him,_ will abuse those cracks, laying bare a vulnerability in Akira’s entire persona if he probes enough.

Tearing that mask aside, finding how _little_ Akira is, finding out what he _needs -_

\- and giving all of that to him with stars in his eyes.

Would he create a new mask for Akira out of his own motives? Or would he encourage what he just uncovered, merely guiding it into his favor?

Paint over, or create new art from scratch?

Tomorrow the Phantom Thieves have meeting – where they’d talk about things on their ‘discussion list’.

The blue invading the palace is one of them.

And it’s not _just_ a change, Yusuke knows.

Going beyond what Makoto suggested that had settled everyone satisfactory for the time being. Sure, it’s indeed a change of cognition, one that Yusuke recognizes well – but it’s more than that; a metamorphosis.

Usually a biological term used for animals that undergo a rapid change in appearance and body structure right after birth or hatching.

The blue is unpredictable, Yusuke finds, but more importantly, it reminds him of Akira.

For once, Yusuke can’t really come up with a satisfactory explanation regarding something that should come natural to an artist.

Is it the calmness blue radiates? A soothing impression, fitting Akira’s presence that is just as mild and wonderful to immerse himself into? To let worries go for a moment in the sweet knowledge someone else would carry them?

Blue is a more subtle color because it’s usually darker, tending to blend into the background when in presence with other colors of a similar spectrum. But blue can also _shine,_ depending on how bright it is _,_ and attract because it’s easy to comprehend.

But every color can stand out as long as it’s alone; as long as it’s the only other contrast in a monochrome setting.

Yusuke just doesn’t know how to explain that it suits Akira.

It simply does _._ A gut feeling, an impression that is vague, but still so fitting that it can’t be a coincidence – a contradiction to what Akira told him, and what Yusuke had tried to adapt to.

He knows what Akira would say in this situation. Exceptions prove the rules.

When he first saw the blue shyly peaking through in their earlier invades, subtle and easily overlooked, Yusuke had already been paying it more attention than the others. Their most recent encounter with Akechi reminded him once again that he is still lacking when it comes to understanding art and its deeper meaning; its relation with its surrounding in independence from reality itself.

Cognition is based on the heart, which is easily swayed.

To see the color spread so rapidly, the realization of witnessing change – it reaches for Yusuke in tender, but firm grasps.

A metamorphosis into something big. Grander, much more meaningful than what it was before.

And Yusuke can’t decide if he wants to witness what could possibly evolve into an artwork that transcends previously known limits, or if he wants to try and tear it down, to prevent it from blooming out of selfish reasons, of fear that it will surpass anything Yusuke could hope to create.

Yusuke is barely able to concentrate on their current mission in Mementos with all those loose thoughts flying in his head.

He doesn’t really need to, because their excessive training had drilled his body into automatic responses when his mind fails, and he dodges large area of effect spells left and right on autopilot.

Yusuke can’t recall the details of their target – just knows the man has something akin to a king complex, thinking everyone inferior in his work office and at home, treating them as nothing but servants.

It’s why he sends out minions, smaller monsters to deal with the trash. But since the king’s movements and spells only seem to be of wide range with corresponding, destructive power, it restricts his movements as well.

It’s an endless cycle – the king producing more shadows, but unable to do much damage from the back-lines, or else he’d kill his own subordinates that work so diligently for him.

At some point the king is too fed up, though.

He doesn’t spawn more monsters, a heavy Agidyne from his side taking the remaining ones out in one go, and from there on Yusuke actually has to focus to not get caught up. Since the minions are gone, the king has much more room for himself, unleashing what he’d been holding back before.

They still manage to beat him after what must have been at least twenty minutes, draining everybody off their rest energy.

They say teammates make you stronger

Yusuke thinks that the king was way harder to deal with after he sacrificed them.

Makoto takes a bit longer to talk sense into the beaten man, stumbling over her words before she could properly chastise him for his distorted view on his colleges. Eventually he nods and dissolves. Morgana changes into a bus again, collecting tired Phantom Thieves one by one.

Their target’s colleagues and family will most likely see an entirely different person the next day – a _good_ one. Yusuke doesn’t know why that leaves a bitter aftertaste in his mouth only _now._

Along with him, Makoto is the only one not in the bus yet, staring at the spot where the shadow was.

“Fox,” Makoto calls out to him. She doesn’t turn her head as he silently approaches, and he signals the rest that they’d come in a minute.

“Would- if Joker would have been here, do you think we would have struggled? Do you think this would have been faster?”

He takes in her dry lips, how her mask seems to sit just a bit tighter over her face than usual.

One arm of hers is wound around her mid-section. Yusuke knows she hasn’t sustained any injury there, especially because Morgana had used the last of his energy to heal them.

“...No.”

He has a feeling Makoto knows he’s lying, but she sends him a smile anyway.

“Thank you. I’m sorry.”

The apology sounds misplaced. Like it holds more meaning than its use suggests.

They both climb into the bus, silence thick and heavy afterwards, even with the rest of the Phantom Thieves occasionally muttering smaller sentences back and forth.

Makoto spends the rest of the trip back with her eyes glued to the phone, angling it so that no one could make out her texts, letting a reluctant Ann drive instead.

Yusuke wonders if they really are just holding Akira back from everything he could have done, could have _become_ if it weren’t for them.

* * *

Akechi finds his Shadow on the secluded VIP balcony of a smaller hall.

This one isn't nearly as extravagant as the grand one where he had showcased Akira, lacking the stardust on the ceiling, the countless pillars littered throughout the hall reduced to two only. Most importantly, it does not posses a curtain as heavy as the one carrying the weight of thousand performances.  
  
It's a small and secluded thing that smells of promises of a different future.  
  
When Akechi sits down in the only chair left, Shadow Akechi doesn't acknowledge his presence just yet, looking down onto the stage instead.  
  
Akechi follows his gaze, but soon drifts to the audience to see countless, shadowy persons slowly filling the empty spots. Hushed, unintelligible conversation serve as mindless background noise that does little to disperse the haptic tension.  
  
"It's quite well visited for something so secluded," Akechi disrupts the silence, putting a hand to his chin as he continues to observe.

Shadow Akechi doesn't move, but Akechi feels eyes shortly lingering on him before they redirect to their previous location.  
  
"It's a rising star stage, after all," his Shadow flatly responds. "Not big enough of a performance to make it to the grand hall yet, but growing more and more popular."  
  
The lights dim and the heavy curtain rises. Two, distinctive figures start darting around the stage with dramatic flair.  
  
He eyes his cognition, genuinely wonders, "Aren't you partaking?"  
  
Shadow Akechi is more often than not center in these plays, and if not playing the main role, he's at least an important key character. Ironically enough, it's rare for him to be in the shadows rather than in the light.  
  
He thrives in either.  
  
"No", comes the brisk answer, and this time he feels Shadow Akechi actively seeking his gaze. "I do not know the script for this one, and neither will I."  
  
Akechi hums. A twitch from the Shadow's lips.  
  
"Aren't you concerned?"  
  
"Shouldn't you be?" Akechi counters.  
  
His Shadows laughs, and Akechi wonders if he sounds the same kind of oblique.  
  
"You're perceptive enough to enable me to realize that I'm a cognition. I will change when your desires do. I won’t fear that."  
  
"I wasn’t referring to fear."  
  
"Fear is concern evaluated," Akechi Shadow nonchalantly replies as if Akechi doesn't already know it.  
  
They watch as vague figures ambush from the backside of the stage, throwing the play into a deadly dance that completely enthralls the audience.

There are other, lighter beings disrupting the flow as well, and Akechi's breath hitches when one main character threatens to get entangled in one of them, two different shades struggling to emerge victorious.

Akechi doesn't know the script of this one, either. Out of his peripheral vision, he sees Shadow Akechi standing up to go stand by the railing, so Akechi follows.  
  
If his Shadow notices Akechi witnessing how a white, gloved hand briefly phases through the railing before properly gripping it, he doesn't mention anything.  
  
It looks brittle anyway, white wood chapped away to reveal velvet blue at some parts, and Akechi feels like just leaning against it might lead to letting it crash down into the audience.

Only to form anew.  
  
Akechi eyes the railing, puts his own hand onto it despite not needing to. Beneath his gloves, the material feels firm.

"I want you to join me tomorrow."  
  
Shadow Akechi raises an eyebrow, skeptical. "I thought you don't want anyone around him."  
  
"You just answered your own question, then." Akechi smiles, and doesn't really know if it looks genuine.

It shouldn't hide his intentions though, and judging by how his Shadow relaxes and tenses at the same time, he must get a rough idea of what Akechi is planning.  
  
"...You're exceptionally cruel. Offering me what I'm willing to deny myself."  
  
Akechi scoffs, some of his plastered friendliness crumbling too easily whenever he's around the palace ruler.

"Such noble deeds are entirely misplaced. Not to mention you’re contradicting yourself. Do I need to remind you that you've already made him seek you out? I was away, not _dumb_."  
  
"You talk like you didn't shoot down his cognitive version when it could still respawn."  
  
"And you say that like you haven’t already been doing the same."  
  


The mess of bodies on stage dissolves into smoke, leaving only the initial pair standing, bowing repeatedly to thunderous applause.

Akechi has never gotten the plot for a single one of these.

His shadow looks at him through the corners of his eyes, blood eyes shining ominously. "The stage is reserved for only one of each. You should know that the best."

"You make it sound like you don’t have a chance.”

“Would you _like_ me to have a chance so you can feel even better?”

“No,” Akechi hisses.

Akira is _his_ , and he won’t share the end result of his fruition with someone else ever. But he could use his Shadow in the process of it – that his counterpart most likely already figured out.

Akechi continues in a dry tone. “However, that implies you’ve given _up._ I don't know what it is, but you're wallowing in some sort of self-hatred instead of putting up a fight like you should. But you don’t really want to, do you? Your actions speak where your mouth twists your words.”

His Shadow offers him a dark chuckle. “How long has it been? For someone so smart I’d honestly expected you to realize a few things by now.”  
  
Shadow Akechi looks at him after saying that, giving him a pointed stare that Akechi returns with a grim one of his own.

Their conversations are as cryptic as ever, and like always, Akechi is rarely able to make too much sense out of them, especially when the Shadow starts to refer to _Akechi_ not being able to see something.

He's in his very own palace with his Shadow standing right in front of him – what _isn't_ he missing?

A few seconds pass before they both seem to sense the futility of their situation. Two humorlessly chuckles resonate within the discharged air, and they redirect their gaze down.

"Why do we even bother?"  
  
"Good question," Shadow Akechi flatly remarks, but can't keep another chuckle at bay.

It sounds horribly hollow.  
  
Countless, meaningless medals glint when they bounce off of Shadow Akechi's military vest as he turns to face Akechi properly, the white of his clothes a false beacon even in the dim lighting.

Despite what his Shadow said, there’s the undeniable glint of ferocity in his eyes, underlining Akechi’s accusations. "Explain what you envisioned."

Akechi just wonders why those orbs seem more bottomless than his own.

With a hooded gaze, Akechi mirrors the action, puts a hand on his hip as he regards the other and comparing his regal and pompous clothing to his detective one.

Up to this day, Akechi has never gotten a proper grip on the character of his Shadow, even if it's his... own self.

Shadow Akechi should embody what Akechi hides from the world and propel it to new heights, and while he certainly does that in extents, he _knows_ the other is holding _something_ back.

Upon entering his palace the first time, Akechi had not been surprised when he couldn't find a cognitive version of Akira. He wasn't even remotely astonished when he discovered what Shadow Akechi always did with it.

What made him mildly perplex is just that Shadow Akechi’s reason for his actions gradually began changing, but never distinctive enough that Akechi could pin it down to a specific emotion or term.

And when his Shadow informed him about the intruders making his way through the corridors in hopes of finding a treasure they could never steal, not anymore, the ruler of the palace had been content with _watching_ instead of _participating,_ something that goes against everything Shadow Akechi portrayed of himself before.

His eyes are more honest than Akechi's, speaking of a deep-rooted voracity that seems to grow each time Akechi pays him a visit, or vice versa. He may hide it well from others (in theory - who is to understand him other than himself and Akira?), but Akechi has spent too much time in the mirror, trying to figure out himself, trying to distort his features into something that isn't him for the sake of his future.

How ironic.

Akechi knows his Shadow's main interest is Akira, but Akechi just can't figure out why his Shadow is not doing... _anything._

Shadow Akechi has admirable self-control over his desires when he shouldn't, meaning his attempt at pulling the guards off to make Akira seek him out was ridiculous, entirely uncalled for.

A slip-up at best, a weakness of whatever useless convictions he tries to convince himself to follow.

At first, Akechi had whole-heartedly expected his Shadow to try and kill Akira the second no audience was there to witness it; thought that the actual presence would trigger the same beast he saw descending on cognitive Akira each time.

And yet it never happened.

Why?

Why isn't Shadow Akechi doing anything, what does he _need_ self-control for if the concept of a Shadow is to have none of that? To lay bare what people hide?

Maybe some of Akechi's old _heroism_ managed to manifest as well, just barely enough for his Shadow to hold himself back, to not actually act out what his body demands.

When Akechi first thought of that, it made him emit a laughter that hurt his insides, reminded him of a time where warm, auburn eyes watched him fondly while he jumped across furniture with a toy gun in his hand.

When he still thought he could be a hero.

He _loathes_ his Shadow, hates how it portrays what Akechi _knows_ is there but tries not to acknowledge in fear of getting caught up in the past again. It's what he's been trying to free himself off for the past years, and he's been pretty successful at that.

But even in his most hideous form, where everything should be laid bare, some form of _justice_ is still hiding. Akechi guesses he didn't kill the _good_ part in himself enough with each bullet he shot, with each sword he stuck through flesh and bones – probably the reason why he can still summon Robin Hood as well.

Well, it's not like he can put the blame on his Shadow if _he_ is the origin of it all.

Akechi is aware he might be contradicting himself here – and despite the giant sense of irritation he feels everytime he's laying sight on that stupid, white coat that should be any other color than that, his Shadow's slip up enabled a few, new options for Akechi to utilize, some he hadn't thought of before.

It’s not like Shadow Akechi would get Akira anyway – no matter what he did, even if that pathetic part of justice and pity wouldn’t be holding him back from unleashing what Akechi is sure hides beneath that hideous smile, Akira would look at _him_ only.

He still wants to uncover what his Shadow isn’t telling him.  
  
"A second performance," Akechi finally says after minutes of silence.  
  
His Shadow echoes his words right back at him; expression almost innocent if it weren't for the glint in red eyes that remind Akechi of deep sea fishes attracting their prey. "A second performance?"

Strangely enough, there also seems to be some kind of pain – as if his own words are a double edged sword whose effects are full in use.  
  
Akechi lets the reminiscent of a smile drape across his mouth, doesn't need to answer yet another, useless question.

"You're the one who informed me about his _adventures_ during my absence. That he overstepped the boundaries I set for him. Don’t act surprised."

"I certainly cannot argue with that," his counterpart muses, and whatever had been going through his eyes is gone now.

The hall is empty, but the light stays on, illuminating a lonely stage and an even lonelier audience.

Shadow Akechi tilts his head, but Akechi knows he's going to accept anyway.

"How cruel."

Akechi remains silent. The corner of his lips quirk into something that could be a smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Check out[this amazing art](https://twitter.com/s0mmer_annie/status/1323998906615648256) by [@s0mmer_annie](https://twitter.com/s0mmer_annie) for a corresponding scene in this chapter! Thank you so much <3!**
> 
> _Yes, this all happened in one day. Remember - Metaverse 'doubles' the time, so you can take the first and second half as day 1, and the last bit with Shadow Akechi as day 2 in the Metaverse, but still day 1 in reality. Confusing, I know._
> 
> _If you've got question I can answer without spoiling, then don't hesitate. If I were to try and explain each move Akechi does here or what's behind his train of thoughts, it'd probably result in another fanfic at the bottom notes._
> 
> _I will still try to explain this chapter a bit since we're getting a bit more complicated, starting with Akira's reaction: Despite how darkly seductive it may have looked, Shadow Akechi did come at him with the intention to kill in the last chapter. Akira genuinely feared for his life that day. Combine that with his already hazard feelings regarding Akechi's absence, and it resulted in an experience so bad that he views Akechi's homecoming as something so grounding and relieving that he doesn't want him to leave again out of fear of living through the same thing again._
> 
> _Vaguely explained, Yusuke basically fears that Akira will create better art with Akechi than with them (I graduated from an art-focused class in Highschool and that made his POV more and less complex at the same time)._
> 
> _In the talk with his Shadow, Akechi is as irritated as ever. He thinks Shadow Akechi is keeping something from him, and can't comprehend what it could be since it seems to be the reason why his Shadow doesn't pursue what his greatest desire should be = Akira. He does plan to use his own Shadow to his advantage, though._
> 
> This is barely 6.5k, so a bit smaller than usual. I still hope I fed you well enough, and I also hope I did Yusuke justice since he's absolutely precious! Smut in the next chapter to look forward to, and I also promise that Ryuji doesn't need TOO long anymore :)
> 
> Also, my _Akechi-meets-Akira-before-Ann-and-Ryuji_ fic (which I lovingly dubbed Banana AU) is slowly taking form in terms of concept and where I want it to go. It'll still take a while to build it and write the first chapters, but I really want to take my time with it and focus on a refreshing development of their situation. Did I mention it's going to contain Shujin!Goro as well?
> 
> As always, feedback of any kind would be lovely. It's always super fun and encouraging to read them, so thank you to every single person who leaves them, especially those who do it on a regular basis! I'm always so honored and happy, it's hard to comprehend with words only. Take my love with chapters and more Akeshu fanfic because will I ever write anything else?


	12. engraved in my heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm very curious to see what you think of this chapter (which I actually like?) hueeee I'm gonna burry myself now-
> 
> Beta-read by **BrownieQueen** whom I can never thank enough that you put up with me! Much love and cookies and boba and anOTHER AMBER-
> 
> **Trigger Warning:** There's smut, and, like always, it can be read as dub-con. It's implied that Akira 'accepts' the sex in some way, but with how much Akechi has done to him, it's not false to still perceive it as manipulation. It's... darker due to the POV and a bit more intense than usual, I'd say. The section is marked if you want to skip it, and a short summary of what happens on an interpretation level is in the bottom note.

###  December 17th, Saturday

"Is there a reason why you've invited me to coffee, Sae-san?"

The grip on her handle is tight as she lifts the cup to take a sip from it, keeping her eyes trained on the polite form of Akechi seated in front of her.

Figures he wouldn't buy a _just because I wanted to_ from her.

She doesn't really _need_ a break from her currently assigned case, but she pretends that she does anyway, letting weariness settle heavy in her limbs as she leans back.

"The current investigation proves to be very taxing, I'm afraid. Trying to get hold of the mess Kaneshiro's case left behind isn't something that can be solved within only a few months, and I felt like a small break was in order." Sae sighs, letting her lowered gaze flicker back to him. "Besides, we haven't talked properly in quite a while. You seem very... busy."

"I assume it's a power vacuum? Yes, those are indeed an intricate matter to deal with," Akechi replies fondly, smoothly dodging every other, subtle nudge of Sae when he finally lifts his own cup towards his lips.

A strange look goes over his face as soon as Sae hears him taking a sip, but it's gone in the next second, contentment softening the lines of his face as he closes his eyes. She uses the time to quickly send Makoto a message, saying they'd have roughly an hour before she has to let the detective go.

The smile Akechi sends her is almost impish. "Well, if the result of such taxing work ends up with me getting a free cup of coffee, I won't complain. Pardon me, but I still find myself unconvinced. Usually, you would have already started some sort of interrogation. Or have you actually missed me?"

"Don't flatter yourself," Sae says briskly, but offers a coy tilt of her mouth as she puts her phone away. "Makoto is busy with another project from school before the Christmas holidays hit, and my other collogues seem to have disappeared from the earth when I could finally allow myself a small breather."

"So, I was your only option for company."

"You were my only option," she confirms, allowing a lofty smile to cross her face, but squashes it down soon enough to reveal her fabricated, real intentions. "All jokes aside, I do want to talk about the Phantom Thieves, though."

Akechi folds his hands over his crossed knee, tilting his head. It's always fascinating to see such simple actions becoming graceful when initiated by him.

"There the interrogation is." He schools the playful twinkle in his eyes into a more serious one. "I'm surprised you took so long to confront me about it. You're usually more direct, but you haven't mentioned anything at work."

Quietly cursing his deduction skills, Sae concentrates on her breathing and puts loose strands behind her ear.

It keeps slipping off her mind that she's not _supposed_ to know what he did. Sae had gotten a brief summary of possible scenarios that could occur from her little sister, the capture, and proclaimed suicide being one of them – it mentally prepared her for the actual news when they hit, mild surprise quickly giving away to grimness.

Only a week afterward did she notice that she should have acted a bit earlier than now, realizing that her _not_ asking Akechi about the Phantom Thieves in any way is way too suspicious. She just hopes that the lack of connection between her and them (they _were_ trying to change her heart, after all, but as far as she's concerned, she also shouldn't know anything about the Metaverse) is enough for Akechi to give her the benefit of the doubt.

Sae smiles. Tired, a little wary, but also conceding enough to re-ignite the glint in his eyes.

"Shouldn't I be the one surprised? After all, you were assisting me with the Phantom Thieves until I got pulled off. Weeks later, I hear their leader committed suicide while everyone in the department is praising your name. I'm surprised I've yet to see an interview of it on television. There was only one, a quick radio station podcast, right?"

"Yes." He looks almost bashful after admitting that. "And... well, I've taken some matters into my own hands," Akechi continues, giving her crinkled eyes that don't match the content of his words.

"I certainly never expected for it to... dip into such a dark direction, though. On top of that, I was also quite busy studying for my entrance exams. Since I solved such a major case, I've been given a bit of a break from my media life. I'm soon expected to pick it up again though, to use the buzz to my advantage. Very soon, actually."

"How soon?"

"Tomorrow."

Usually, there's always a slight wince in his posture when he mentions having to meet with boring hosts and answering the same, tedious questions. She can't find it this time, the simple word rolling off his lips like any other.

Sae leans forward, narrowing her eyes. "I'll be sure to watch it." Then, with a slightly more inquisitive tone, "and what _matters_ did you undertake for you to uncover the identity of someone who slipped off the police's radar for months?"

The small smile on his face might actually hold some genuineness in it.

"They've been quite desperate after Okumura's death, no? Falling from their high horse, losing their _faithful_ supporters in a single night." A pleased look crosses his face. "Remember what I said when I openly stated that I didn't believe they were the actual culprits?"

Akechi rakes a gloved hand loosely through his strands, and they somehow still manage to fall in perfect ways around his face. "Once they lost public support, someone they thought was their greatest enemy lent a hand."

Sae heard the tale many, many times. Makoto especially always seems particularly heated whenever their conversations shift towards Akechi and his betrayal, but to hear it in vague innuendos from his lips, unknowing that she's already connected – it's a sobering realization.

But apparently, Akechi isn't finished. As if telling her a secret, he leans closer, smiling secretively. "That's... the same strategy used in romance, wouldn't you agree?"

Her mouth feels strangely dry after that; his words leaving uncertainty running turmoil in her stomach.

She's been getting considerably better at controlling her uneasiness whenever she's around Akechi at work, her perception of him having taken a drastic turn after getting to know the Phantom Thieves and their first encounter after his small holiday.

It's still evoked from within her quite easily if the right buttons are triggered, and Sae feels a telltale shiver running down her spine as she watches his intense expression, clearly waiting for a verbal response that's stuck in her throat.

Sae shakes her head, trying to get a grip on herself.

"You betrayed them."

The bright smile accompanying a humble laugh has goosebumps breaking out on some parts of her covered skin. Sae really doesn't know why – physically, all she can see is a pretty face with a pretty smile.

"Is it betrayal if I was never fully part of them? With their leader gone, it's only a question of time until I can capture the rest. But for now, I'll lay low. Can't get the success go to my head too much, you know? Then again, they're nothing without their leader, so me getting a bit ahead of myself wouldn't be fatal."

Irritation flares through her. Sae wants to open her mouth and argue that Makoto is trying her best, taking up the role of the leader, eyebags becoming more prominent with each day.

As far as Sae knows, she isn't always out in the Metaverse, but Makoto must be doing _something_ for that exhaustion to accumulate to such degree.

"I can't deny that I feel... betrayed as well," she slowly says, watching his expression remain unchanged. "But you've certainly done what I wasn't able to do, and therefore I commend you for it."

A sheepish, small laugh. "I apologize for that, Sae-san, but as you know – if you want to fool your enemy, you must fool your allies first. I'll try not to in the future though, and I think you won't fall for the same trick twice anyway." Akechi has the audacity to add a wink towards the end of his sentence.

She gives a sigh, briefly massaging her temples before crossing her arms again.

"Let's not dwell too long on that, then. What matters is that the Phantom Thieves can't act anymore if your perception of them is right; their threat eliminated. With the main conflict out of the way, we can safely focus on cleaning up their mess, especially regarding Kaneshiro and the election. Although that's a pretty obvious outcome, don't you think?"

"Indeed," Akechi hums, not showing any sign of discomfort at the indirect mention of Shido, and swiftly moving onto the next topic. "So, what is that project of your sister that keeps her so busy from sparing even a little time for her beloved, older one?"

Sae inwardly falters, mind scrambling to come up with false background information on the spontaneous lie she pulled earlier. To think Akechi remembered such an unimportant side information and decided to backtrack on it now.

Then again, she isn't too surprised.

"Unfortunately, I don't know," Sae finally admits, letting real worry pull the corner of her mouth down. "She has never gone into detail, only says that it takes up a lot of time and that she's really sorry she couldn't meet up with me, which is strange – I don't offer her my company often due to work, but then she usually jumps at the opportunity and makes time for it."

It's not even far from the truth. Sae only got a basic impression on what they were doing in the alternative universe (it's very, very hard for her to imagine Makoto is riding some sort of imaginary bike she calls Johanna and wielding... nuclear magic? To steal treasure and change hearts? God, how is that even related?) but she feels the surest sticking with her uncertainty about everything. Akechi doesn't know it's directed towards the entire Metaverse matter as well.

He nods, as understanding as ever. "That's a Njiima for you, always diligent in your work despite not needing to."

"What can I say? I'm proud of having such a delectable sister," she responds, letting real fondness seep into her voice. "It's important that she takes her education and her future seriously."

"Oh, I'm sure it is."

The smile Akechi sends her is dazzling despite its small size, and Sae tries not to avert her eyes as she meets his gaze head-on that grows more and more intense the longer she keeps eye contact. It seems strangely knowing and serves to make her more uncomfortable than she already is.

Sae gives in first, making a fleeting gesture to himself in an attempt to gain the reigns of the conversation.

"How are _you_ holding up, Akechi-kun?"

A brisk laugh. "Quite well, I suppose. My current case isn't a large scale one, but it requires a lot of attention and time from my side, even outside of work hours. In addition to that, the interviews I'll have to attend to in a while are considerably longer than I'm used to, but they're few and nothing I can't manage."

He puts his cup back onto the same spot it was served, and Sae sees its almost full despite her own being nearly empty.

She frowns. "Is the coffee not to your liking? My apologies, I thought this is how you take it usually."

A strange shift goes through Akechi before he seems to catch himself, putting a hand to his chin. "Oh, you're certainly right. I'm afraid that my... standards for coffee have considerably risen over the past months, and this one tastes a bit bland in comparison, I suppose."

"And where exactly have your standards in coffee risen that you seem unable to take more than a few sips?"

Sae can't help but lean into the opportunity of discussing LeBlanc, wanting to see his reaction over speaking about the Phantom Thieves' hideout in a general matter, unaware that Sae knows.

Akechi's eyes crinkle. "Oh, I'm certain you know LeBlanc. It's always a bit of a detour, though, but it's certainly worth it."

Sae leans back when realizing she had leaned more forward than usual for her, and she gives an affirmative hum. "I see. So, you're a regular there?"

"I suppose I can call myself that, yes. Unfortunately, I haven't recently done anything to live up to that title, but I'll be sure to stop by again soon."

"Impressive. Are you close to Sakura, too?"

In an instant, Akechi's gaze hardens, losing some of the projected warmth. "If you want me to press him for information regarding your attempts, I let you know that I won't."

Sae shakes her head, a bit caught off-guard by the sudden frostiness. "No, it's not like that. While I admit I'm still curious about their case, it's something I don't plan to look further into, especially now that the Phantom Thieves are gone. I've realized my... mistakes."

"Good," Akechi responds, and he's back to cheerful detective again when he takes another sip, only to put it back with a grimace. She can just blink at his change of behavior before he speaks up again.

"It certainly tasted better when I first drank it. It really must have been a while... I'm very sorry to have wasted your money on this. It's only right I should pay."

"It's fine." Sae waves him off. "I guess it's my fault for not seeking out a café that fits your standards."

And then she suddenly gets an idea that's totally out of character for her, but now that the words are already in her head, she can't hold them back.

"So," Sae says, finishing her own latte and setting it on the cup with a loud clink. "Any girlfriend yet?"

Akechi _nearly_ splutters.

His mask cracks briefly, enabling her to see a torrent of cold, furious emotions racing through his eyes, making anxiety curl inside her stomach, but then there's a faint, red hue settling on Akechi's cheeks that promptly covers the fissures up.

She's looking at a flustered teenager now.

"W-where does that question come from, Sae-san? That's certainly out of the blue." He clears his throat, fumbling with his tie.

While she's never been able to fully tell if he's completely bullshitting her or if he's somewhat honest, Sae always had a wild hunch in her stomach.

But Sae can't read _anything_ right now. There's not a single, graspable clue for her to tell whether Akechi's blushing is honest or not.

On the one hand, he certainly must know how to. It would definitely come in handy with charming ladies and on TV, but on the other hand, Sae tries to search her memories for a time where she had _seen_ him blushing _,_ even on screen, and she comes up with blank nothingness.

Her mouth feels dry despite having the upper hand in the current topic. "I admit it's a rather spontaneous thought and I couldn't control myself from speaking it out aloud. Still, with you being so busy most of the time, plus the fact that I've never seen you with another female aside from me, of course, I... start to worry."

Feeling a bit more in her element, she's sure to make out a gasp and narrows her eyes. "Akechi-kun, I'm _flattered_ , but-"

"No," Akechi manages to squeeze out hastily, and one hand leaves his knee to hide a growing blush. Sae reminds herself that it's a ruthless killer in front of her, not a blushing, adorable boy trying to keep up with the adults.

Akechi visibly recoils, and Sae almost laughs. "I- god, _no_." His eyes soften. "Ah, apologies, Sae-san, I didn't mean it to come out that way. You're quite the sight for sore eyes, but I'm afraid that I have... other preferences."

His voice loses some of the heat, and when he removes his hand from his face, it's composed once more.

Huh, guess that is as much information she can extract for him with her seemingly random question – not that she didn't have a vague idea about his interest in Akira from what Makoto described her, plus the fact that he never looked at one of his countless, female fans twice.

Sae pulls out her phone to check the time, and then nearly drops it when she looks back up. There's a shy smile blossoming on his face, feeling so _real_ despite being as minuscule as it could be, nothing like the ones he reserves for the cameras or even for her.

But through the projected warmth, there is _darkness_ peeking through, promising and heavy, and she doesn't know why she can see that much in the first place when Akechi is offering her nothing but a small movement of his lips.

"I won't deny that I'm pursuing someone, though."

###  ? ? ? ? ? ?

Shadow Akechi possesses the cultivated conviction that he should and will always get what he wants in his palace.

That's the reason why, once feels the loose threads of his existence connecting, walls and rooms building around him from nothing but deep anxiety and the need to hide from the world to bring the man wanting to lead it _to fall,_ Shadow Akechi swiftly walks the familiar halls he never set foot in to play the role he instinctively knows he is best at.

Oh, he knows he's essentially _nothing,_ a desperation given form. But by the nature of it, Shadow Akechi is also content with what he has, fooling thousands of people day by day, accumulating to million stares forgotten by night.

The adrenaline, the feeling of absolute _control_ he has when the curtains open and shut is enough to make him survive the downs.

His counterparts visits him, sometimes.

Shadow Akechi tries not to think too much about him because he's the reason for his entire existence which is more contradicting than Akechi is supposedly aware of.

When the Shadow shows him around, Akechi takes every new room, all the flashes of color and light in with a certain stride, as if he'd been expecting something along the lines already.

As if it's normal for a persona user to have his own palace.

Akechi merely eyes his Shadow's clothes with barely disguised disdain and questions their similar eye color.

Shadow Akechi gains a second form that day.

Sometimes they have small debates, indulging themselves in interesting arguments that don't really lead anywhere. Most of the time, they live in their own world, going on about their own lives, hardening their resolve to see a man fall just before he can step onto his throne, because that's what both dedicated themselves to.

They don't get along that well, particularly because both are so self-aware, and some topics are never breached. Shadow Akechi would call it a passive alliance of sorts that happens to overlap when it's needed.

Akechi smiling sweetly for the camera, Shadow Akechi dealing with the consequences.

It's always been like that.

Until one of the backstage rooms for the performers gets a single letter on the door.

The K is dull, not nearly as polished as the A on a different level, but it's _there_ , and the moment cognitive Akira first forms due to somewhat regular interactions and a sudden infatuation that spiked due to years of neglect and selective isolation, Shadow Akechi shoots ~~it~~ him.

He's afraid because while his theater doesn't change, he feels his _desires_ already do.

It's the smallest alteration, but big enough to shake all of Shadow Akechi's foundations.

The idea of Akechi finding someone after such a long time, a single person to interest him _enough_ to enable a cognition to form inside his palace-

The fear leaves Shadow Akechi rapidly, no matter how much he tries digging his claws to it, until he questions why he wanted to cling to it in the first place, an unfamiliar void now replacing the initiate feeling.

Except he already knows what it is, but Akechi _doesn't,_ and it's confusing because he should only know what his counterpart knows and yet Shadow Akechi is still able to-

Shadow Akechi is sure that he would have liked to see how it plays out. What cognitive Akira's role would be, how Akechi's perception of him would manifest in detail.

But like one giant leak with nothing to cover it up, Akechi's feelings spill too quickly, develop so fast that by the time Shadow Akechi pulls the trigger a second time, the reasons for both of cognitive Akira's death couldn't have been more different.

He re-spawns regularly, but cognitive Akira never has a chance to give anything but a surprised sound from him, hitting the floor with blood spreading onto the carpet like spilled red wine countless of times.

Shadow Akechi always feels some sort of distant déjà vu overcoming him when he sees that, and questions if it's from his own cognition or from original Akechi's.

His gun vanishes, and he resorts to using his sword only after that.

The room gets larger, more important over the months with each interaction, no matter how little, and when summer succumbs to early fall, the letters on cognitive Akira's door change and the room moves next to his.

Shadow Akechi already knows by heart when cognitive Akira is forming anew, and always abandons every task he's busy with to stalk through halls belonging to him with the purpose to kill.

Again.

Again and again and again, in hopes of trying to satisfy the endless greed that had manifested inside of him, growing day by day, ending in a bottomless void, he tries filling anyway despite knowing it's futile.

By the time November hits, all Shadow Akechi wants is Akira.

Not some cognitive version of him.

What brought him joy in the beginning, what had been enough to sate his desires had become too large, too voracious for him to try and control with just a pretty head severed, spilling even prettier blood.

No matter how much time real Akechi spends thinking about the thief, analyzing his every move down to the grain - there will _always_ be things he'll get wrong, and cognitive Akira will never, ever compare to the thrill of the real Akira, not from the start, not to the end.

Shadow Akechi killed Akira out of spite and fear once.

Shadow Akechi kills Akira out of love, too unfathomable to be put into words.

But it's never enough, never, _never_ , _**never,**_ because it's not the real one.

Nothing of this is _real._

As if to mock him, cognitive Akira re-spawns even faster than that, as if it's some kind of final spurt.

And Shadow Akechi (sometimes Akechi, but out of different and same reasons) kills him so many times, watches life essence splatter every possible inch of his palace red that he can't think of a spot he hasn't seen stained.

The cognition finally stops appearing entirely.

He had done the same with Shido (taking his time, really. As if he'd allow a mere _cognition_ to hold some sort of power over him in _his_ palace). The Phantom Thieves only needed one or two deaths each before Akechi's subconsciousness realized and accepted that none of them had a place in his most inner sanctuary, the only part where he had _control,_ to make everything as it should be.

Hell, he barely recognized them as threats, and it's the reason why they're almost done with clearing his palace.

In regards to cognitive Akira, it's both a loss and a win for him. Shadow Akechi doesn't need to bother with a fake anymore, but he also lost the only thing he can only describe as an outlet.

After all, unlike the real Akira, he is _able_ to kill the cognition of him, and it's the closest he'll come in regards to fulfilling his desire.

So when Akechi offers to share Akira, real Akira, even for a bit, it's a tempting offer that will only further rip himself apart because he _can't_ do what he wants to the most.

It's mockery at its finest, a blatant taunt right into his face, and it wouldn't infuriate him so much if Akechi would at least be _aware_ of it. He's always a cocky annoyance, tolerable at best because they share the same intellect after all, but it's an entirely different manner if Akechi does it _unintentionally._

But Shadow Akechi always had a knack for self-destructiveness, doesn't he?

Or maybe he's just weak. Possessing so much _power,_ yet he's all bark and no bite when it comes to the most important matter.

Pulling off his personas is proof of that. The only indulgence, the little sanity (or insanity?) he allowed himself consisted of watching Akira's performance (far too tame for his own taste), even if it meant seeing his counterpart on him.

Any _interaction_ afterwards would have ripped the abyss in him even more apart; tease what he could have, but never will. Shadow Akechi knows that technically, he'd be able to handle it, but he doesn't want to subject himself to more pain than he already experiences.

It's not self-hatred, he angrily thinks, remembering what Akechi accused him of.

He just _can't._

He... doesn't really know self-control, and the only thing that lets him keep the illusion of it is _distance._

A physical length between him and Akira. It's always the best when he's in his room, because to that Shadow Akechi has no access to, Akechi being too paranoid of everyone but himself - which should technically enable _Shadow Akechi_ to enter as well, yet common Metaverse logic doesn't really apply when it's not an average palace anyway.

But _damn_ , if Akira hadn't been tempting, walking around freely, mind still meager, but slowly bending to the pressure Akechi applies to him. Almost _unaware_ that he's as much as a prisoner to this palace than he is to his heart.

No, the Shadow corrects himself.

Not unaware, but rather ignoring.

Consciously running away from the truth, refusing to waste more than a few, fleeting thoughts on the blue painting all over the palace.

That could have been a reason for his slip up of... control. Shadow Akechi has been growing impatient, repeatedly telling Akechi that he should just take and _break_ him, but such comments always earn him disapproving looks.

Akechi would like Akira to fully accept him on his own, mind surely manipulated, yes, but in such a way that it leaves his consciousness mostly intact.

Shadow Akechi doesn't know why he bothers with that when Akira could just be _dead_ instead.

And he had... really tried that day, tried despite knowing it would result in the opposite.

To pour all of his love into one, single strike, aimed for the heart, aimed for a perfect future – he only ended up driving his own wounds deeper, confirming his grim anticipations.

But the need to press Akira's smaller body against his had been so unbearable when he could _do_ so, drawing those metal eyes to him, relishing in the fear sparkling to the surface.

If he could have only tightened his embrace until bones dug into his flesh.

To break Akira so hard that there aren't pieces left.

To engrave _himself_ into the last moments of Akira, to fill him with his presence completely, to ensure he is the only thing Akira will ever think about for the rest of the eternity that is death.

An absolute, perfect ending.

But that's precisely where Shadow Akechi is powerless, the mountainous desire in him crumbling in the last moment – right at the edge when all he needs is just a little dip, a small _push,_ a forced mechanism prevents him from giving in, reminds him that he's not a being on his own, rather a projected desire given form.

The _nerve_ of his counterpart to offer Shadow Akechi a second performance.

Shadow Akechi knows he'd never be more powerless, never be revoked more of the control he fights so desperately for – he _has_ during his performances - but maybe...

...it's the closest he'll get after killing cognitive Akira.

Destroying Akira in an entirely different way, robbing his ability to think and reducing him to carnal base needs, if only for a small amount of time.

Oh, Shadow Akechi knows what his counterpart wants to do. Akechi may not know the exact reason _why_ , but he'll surely use the Shadow's conflicting actions to reinforce his own presence at Akira's side.

Then so be it.

Shadow Akechi knows that with the results Akechi's efforts are finally showing, his fate would soon be sealed anyway. Curtains closing, the endless hunger coming to an end.

So if he could lessen at least parts of the inextinguishable pain eating him from the inside out, why not?

Not much longer, not much longer, not much longer.

**\- ! ! ! -**

And because Shadow Akechi has been holding out so _long,_ doesn't he deserves at least a small compensation for the hell he has to live through each day, only worsened when Akechi brought the real Akira to him?

It's why Shadow Akechi doesn't stop himself from shoving his dick into Akira's mouth when it opens with a pinch of his nose.

Akira's hands are tied by the leftover of his vest, ass forcefully being grind against Akechi's crotch. The sounds Akira makes are muffled around the length he's trying to swallow, tears dripping down his cheeks as he gets fucked from behind hard enough for his bare knees to bloom blue already.

It's a beautiful color, nearly as fitting as the redness on Akira's face as his throat convulses whenever Shadow Akechi thrusts in particularly deep. His back is arched like it's going to break, and with the force Akechi thrusts his dick inside of Akira, Shadow Akechi hopes it will.

He curses when he concentrates back on the feel of velvety heat surrounding him, and he grips tousled, black strands to pull even harder, eliciting a series of chocking noises that have more disgusting heat stir in his stomach.

And Shadow Akechi holds him at the base, sees Akira's eyes widening with slivers of fear when it becomes apparent that he can't _breathe_ with how deep his cock goes, nose still pinched, and the Shadow grins, blinding pleasure overcoming him as gray orbs begin to dull and water with an entirely different pain and he sincerely _struggles_ -

Like a clockwork, something _clicks_ inside of Shadow Akechi. He grits his teeth in frustration when the true pleasure he's been chasing gets denied as his body automatically moves backwards, leaving only the tip inside, fingers twitching before releasing so that Akira can breathe again.

"Tsk."

Akechi shoots him a disapproving look; the Shadow simply brushes off. Akechi had never once stepped in when the other's control wavered, and the Shadow doubts he will.

With his free hand, he strokes the line of Akira's lips around his tip, a display that only serves to coil the heated pressure inside of Shadow Akechi tighter. They looked much better when they were stretched to their limit, inches before breaking.

"Go on, dove," he orders in a low growl, feeling the control seep back into him.

He grimly accepts it and resumes his earlier motions, thrusting into the fleshy heat of Akira's mouth with shallow thrusts this time. The throat convulses around him even more than before despite the fact that he's going slower, a realization he takes in with sadistic glee. Shadow Akechi offers a smirk as he buries his hand into black hair agains, tugging in a slight warning when Akira jerks back by instinct not quite tamed yet.

"I want you to _remember_ this."

It's a sign of progress that Akira wordlessly resigned himself to the nature of his little punishment when Akechi had laid it bare just earlier. Still, it's apparent he hadn't expected Shadow Akechi to participate in any of it.

Akechi had whispered encouraging words into Akira's ear as Akira curled into the other - paler than usual and eyes cast downwards. The short sentences they shared are still unknown to Shadow Akechi, but at that point in time, it had been enough for Akira to give a weak nod, pressing himself even closer to the detective who was all too happy to let him.

After that, Akira felt confident enough to meet Shadow Akechi's gaze head-on in a silent challenge.

The little thief was undoubtedly still afraid, but the knowledge, the assurance that _Akechi_ was there with him had been enough to calm his stuttering heart.

And despite that show of obedience, once pushed onto the bare floor in the middle of a hall, Akira fought, lashed, and clawed at him with such vigor that Shadow Akechi had been hard before he even laid a hand on him.

It was only a small part that had rebelled inside of Akira, but it was all the more desperate to come out.

Maybe because of the location as well – this time, they didn't take him to a stage again but rather chose to fuck him in the same hall the fake safe room had been in.

Open and for anyone to see if actual people were walking through his theater instead of just shadows.

Shadow Akechi doesn't know if Akira recognizes his surroundings since the color scheme had completely changed.

Still, the occasional monsters that decided to linger around and watch with vague amusement in their eyes were and are distracting enough anyway, only adding into the humiliation Shadow Akechi is all too happy to abuse.

Well, he'd wager it's an overall better experience than the first performance.

If it were only Akechi, Akira would have probably given in much sooner. Maybe not even resisted in the first place. He supposes that after almost three months, at least Akira's _body_ accepted that it was useless to try and fight the pleasure, but his conscience played into his somewhat-obedience as well - Akira knew he went against Akechi's words of no venturing outside of the path Akechi set for him.

But because Akechi involved his Shadow on purpose now, deliberately changed the brittle, new dynamic he just established with Akira – it was a risky move. It could have ended with an impression of betrayal from Akira's side, further resulting in a rapid decline of progress, and a small slither of it _showed._ The way Akira went rigid the moment Shadow Akechi crawled over him, making him back up against Akechi's chest who was the only being capable of keeping him there with two, strong arms.

But in the end, it did work out, seemingly meeting Akechi's expectations if the pleased look in his eyes every time Akira subconsciously seeks his warmth and touch is any indication.

Rather than offending him, it almost amuses Shadow Akechi whenever he drags his gloves across the skin Akira involuntarily offers. Shaking like a leaf out of fear that those hands would dig too deep for the wounds to recover, Akira seeks for Akechi, clings to him like his life depends on him.

Well, it really does.

But Akira had fought so wonderfully against Shadow Akechi, lashed out and clawed at him with such vigor that the Shadow briefly got ensnared by the illusion of their fight being real; hard before he even got to touch his fragile, little dove directly.

Trashed and cried so much when Shadow Akechi's touches began to grow more intimate, painfully aware of the vague stares from the monster all around them waiting to see him unravel.

It was nothing but morbid beauty, the way tears spilled from Akira's cheeks, fearing that the Shadow would act on what only his eyes could convey, that he doesn't want to trace and brush, but rather to press and dig until everything gives away – his grip on Akechi the only thing keeping him from crumbling.

But his resistance was completely withered down after one hour of torturous teasing and foreplay, and now he _whines_ when he hears Shadow Akechi's command, but his need to be obedient for _Akechi_ wins against his instinct to pull off and properly intake oxygen, so he falls pliant again and lets himself be used.

Shadow Akechi plans to engrave what he can of himself in Akira's mind, dig his hands into every crack that shows and rip it open to _fill._

Akira's own cock is dripping onto the floor with pre-cum, already having formed a puddle that is occasionally joined by drops of sweat and saliva when he's especially messy with his mouth. And yet he had only come once, a brief reward for finally ceasing his resistance – Akechi swiftly put a cock ring on him after that, much to Akira's chagrin and the Shadow's delight.

Because as much as Akira is enjoying this, rutting back into Akechi behind him only to have his waist grasped even tighter in an attempt to steady his frantic motions, he won't climax before they're thoroughly _done_ with him.

Shadow Akechi knows he won't even get to witness it. Once he feels remotely sated, the tiny bits of the emptiness inside of him filled, he'd regain his impervious control back and leave it to Akechi to bring the other to completion.

An act of _mercy_ that Akira would be lapping up like a man dying of thirst, reciprocating everything Akechi is trying to achieve with this act.

It's still good, it's still so fucking good, having Akira embrace him despite not wanting to, but it's also not enough when all the Shadow wants is to literally choke him with his dick and not stopping and _he fucking hates it._

But Shadow Akechi knows he'll just destroy himself as much if he keeps thinking of what he _can't_ do, so he tries remembering what he _can._

Akechi must sense the shift in the air because he nods at him authoritatively, and they switch positions. Now it's the actual detective guiding Akira's panting mouth to his dick, fingers cradling his cheek much softer than they should be.

Shadow Akechi only watches Akira take the offered length with much more eagerness than previously. The small, surreptitious smile Akechi sends him only has Shadow Akechi smirking flirtatiously, not at all insulted by the obvious difference in behavior. 

He uses the opportunity to run his hand over the tantalizing globes usually hidden beneath Joker's slack pants, admiring the bruises mostly stemming from him.

The tremors going through Akira's body signalize him that Akechi has started abusing the same mouth Shadow Akechi did earlier. He grips Akira's ass-cheeks tighter, pulling them apart to let white, sticky fluid slowly dribble out.

They've already taken several turns with him, drilling Akira's hole open so much that it can't close properly anymore, leaving gushes of their cum trailing down to join the mess on the floor.

Shadow Akechi finally decides to get rid of his already ruined gloves, gets them off with a bite of his mouth and then shoves two fingers inside the opening. Purring like a cat when he _feels_ Akira's surprised yelp at the raw skin of fingers against his insides.

The Shadow stirs what is left, earning muffled whines from Akira as to not being fucked properly. Akechi laughs breathlessly, and his Shadow joins with a chuckle on his own, taking delight in the way Akira starts wiggling his hips in order to take his fingers deeper.

Primal fear can never be conquered, but it can be ignored for the time being if too much happens at once.

Hours before, Akira had protested when he felt Shadow Akechi's fingers first prodding at his entrance, trying to find purchase on an unnervingly smiling Akechi while snarling obscenities at the Shadow.

Akira's hips stutter a bit as they rut back against him, but it's clear that the pleasure has taken over, that he's _desperate_ enough to seek friction, _anything_ to get him over the edge, even from a person he wants it the least from.

But in the end, against all his proclaimed objections, Akira likes being _fucked_.

Akira lets out a strangled sound when a third fingers joins with an obscene squelching sound, but it goes in easily enough.

Above him, Akechi's breath has gone shallow and strained again, signalizing his incoming orgasm. Akira seems to sense it as well, doubling his efforts around the cock in his mouth, limbs shaking with the strain he puts them through.

"Don't you dare to spill," Akechi hisses, and Akira's body goes rigid when he's being shoved straight into Akechi's crotch, being hold there and forced to swallow. But Akira is _relaxed,_ knowing the incident from before won't happen again because it's _Akechi_ and not his Shadow.

Said male removes his fingers when Akechi mirrors the action with his own length, letting Akira's upper body fall onto the floor where he's left panting and trying to find purchase. With his ass in the air so invitingly, Shadow Akechi dives right in, lapping at the twitching muscle, moving aside half-way dried cum to dip deeper inside.

" _Ahh-"_

Akira trashes on the floor, quickly going back to a mumbling, incoherent mess as Shadow Akechi eats him out. It's positively addicting, seeing his rival, the reason for _everything_ beneath him so helpless due to _him._

There's nothing on Akira's mind but them, doubts and second thoughts dissipated to make a place for carnal weakness and desire.

Since Shadow Akechi can't kill him, he licks and laps around his hole like he's truly able to devour him if he just _tries_ enough.

Shadow Akechi's straining dick demands the tight clench of Akira's body. Yet he wills it down in favor of concentrating on Akira with his tongue only, moving the muscle tirelessly against anything he can reach.

He sees Akechi pulling Akira's head from the floor to swallow needy whines with hungry lips, forcing Akira to pay attention to _him_ as well.

Not wanting the other to take the lead, the Shadow pulls his tongue out to replace it with his throbbing, angry cock, immediately setting a brutal pace that leaves no room for anything but strangled moans.

Akira is hard and desperate, clenching tightly around Shadow Akechi despite being fucked several times already. The pace the Shadow is setting doesn't leave much room for Akira to produce sounds beyond just breathless gasps and the occasional, broken stutter of what could have been a moan.

Those Akechi claims instantly anyway, bruising Akira's lips even more with how much he tugs at them with his teeth, a move than earns him fluttering eyelashes each time he does it.

Seeing Akira so debauched is nice, but not enough, so Shadow Akechi entirely concentrates on aiming for Akira's prostate again after deliberately having missed it for the past minutes, turning muted moans into small cries and sobs as he fucks him mercilessly.

Akira's legs jerk, ass clamping down as another dry orgasm washes over him. Shadow Akechi just keeps going, milking Akira ruthlessly until his cries turn more frantic to the point where Akechi leaves his mouth alone. He moves to his throat instead, marking the little skin that isn't already a showcase of possession and ownership.

"I c-can't, I can-t, _pleaseee-_ " Akira must be close to reaching his breaking point, sagging even more onto the floor as if he could become one with it, only upheld by Shadow Akechi's grip on his hip.

He wishes he could break skin properly, leave more than just colorful bruises, but he has to satisfy himself with the knowledge that he's the only force keeping Akira upright. At this point, he'd almost think of his Akira as his toy only, something to be moved back and forth on his dick for his own pleasure.

Vaguely Shadow Akechi registers Akira trying to summon the last bits of his strength, reaching for the ring around his cock with slow, shaking movements.

He's stopped by a swat of Akechi's own hands and a slap to his cheek that have him spilling even more tears, but like a kicked puppy, his head immediately seeks Akechi's attention again to try and apologize, delirious hiccups escaping him when Akechi softly cradles his bruising cheek as a silent apology.

"You're doing so good, Akira. Just a little more. You can do that for me, can you?"

"Ah- ah, yes, yes-" Akira's voice has gone scratchy and _raw_ from all the sounds he tried hiding yet begun openly releasing at some point, and Shadow Akechi thinks those sounds will haunt him even when he ceases to be.

"Please, Akechi, _please_ \- it hurtsss," comes the pressed wheeze, desperation audible even through the wrecked mess that is Akira's mouth and throat.

While Shadow Akechi would still like to torture him a lot more, _take a lot_ more, takes as much as he fucking can before he subjects himself to his control once again, it seems like Akira's words reached some soft spot of Akechi if the hazy, but somewhat stern look being sent his way is anything to go by.

Akira is left to soundlessly screaming as he twitches around his cock by the time Shadow Akechi finally cums, spurting another load into the vice-like walls gripping him so deliciously. He had lost count after his fifth climax, and he doubts Akechi kept count as well.

Both stand up and tuck themselves back in, still almost fully clothed in contrast to the naked body panting heavily on the floor, uncaring about lying in his own mess in the middle of a (technically) public place. There are some useless ruts of Akira against the ground, still phantom-chasing his own relief despite knowing there won't be one unless someone removes the ring for him.

Shadow Akechi is tempted, so fucking tempted to destroy Akira right there.

To ruin him for Akechi and fulfill his own desires. It'd be so easy – a grip on the hilt of his sword, and he could slice Akira open; the thieves last feelings being how good Shadow Akechi made him feel.

Still – he can't, he just can't, his body won't _move_ as those thoughts drag his senses through a hazy filter, and he can merely watch Akechi shift from ruthless to unfamiliar softness within a second.

"A...-kechi…," comes the weak murmur, and while the sound does stir his dick to live again, Shadow Akechi collects the pieces of his own resolve he shattered, steadily building them up to their previous glory.

Akira is a pitiful sight, wholly focused on trying to cling to the pleasure, tongue lolling out and trying to get the remnants of Akechi's seed inside his open, panting mouth. His fingers uselessly try to find anything to grip, but he's clearly too spent to move them properly.

**\- ! ! ! -**

Akechi crouches and runs a hand almost lovingly through Akira's hair. He gets a barely audible whine as response.

"No," he tuts, smirking darkly. "You brought this upon yourself. I could give you everything if you'd just _listen_. Granted, this time you didn't do something too bad, and you were aware of your own mistakes, so the punishment involved a lot of pleasure as well."

"I'll be good, I'll be good from now on," Akira slurs, trying to press his head into Akechi's hand. "Please, I _need_ to c-cum, I need-"

"What do you need, Akira?"

A loud, desperate moan. "Y-you-"

"That wasn't so hard now, was it?" Akechi hums, still playing with messy strands of black.

It's nothing short of empowering, seeing Akira like this. Shadow Akechi thinks he begins to understand what Akechi could feel - only a little, though, and he still stands by his opinion that the concept of complete motionlessness is far superior.

Akechi gives a low, husky laugh. "You should have thought about that earlier. I'll bring you to bed now, but if you behave, I might just think it over."

"Anything, please- Just need y-you." Akira is completely _gone_ , thoughts empty aside from wanting release.

It's a pretty picture.

"You know where to find me," Shadow Akechi says, his hands phasing once through the chains of his coat before he gets a grip on himself, tying them together again. White takes over black as he makes last adjustments.

He feels... surprisingly sated. It's not nearly enough to feed the monster inside of him, gigantic and demanding and always louder than any other thoughts, but it's… content for once, basking in the afterglow of having felt Akira beneath its claws, but all the more hungrier to close them.

He knows it'll only get worse after this, his endless greed having a small taste of what _could_ be.

There's a low, rustling noise when a bit of ceiling falls down from above him, but Shadow Akechi just absent-mindedly lets his hand absorb it, feeling the rush of unfamiliarity and the promise of home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _regarding the context: I think Kaneshiro's 'fate' was handled very badly in Persona. Despite how 'childish' the game made him seem, the PT (especially Makoto) were absurdly lucky that he hasn't done anything to them when he took Makoto with him. I also think his influence is very underestimated, and it's definitely a topic I will go more in depth in my 'Akira-meets-Akechi-before-Ann-and-Ryuji' AU._
> 
> _I'll let you interpret Shadow Akechi hehe. Some things should be clearer now, but I'd say there are still things to be explored._
> 
> _The smut (in case you skipped or want to 'understand' it: Akechi basically uses Akira's fear of his Shadow to make him seek refuge in him. He already did so 'mentally' in the last chapter, but with the sex, he manages to establish some sort of physical ground for Akira's attachment to continue to bloom. A very simplified version of this would be good cop bad cop: One you fear and dislike, but the other comes over as 'soft' and 'gentle', and while you usually obviously gravitate more towards the latter, the stark contrast between them makes it even more 'successful'. Akechi basically does that, just with sex (I promise there's an important development going to come without sex, though >>)._
> 
> As always, thank you for reading and being patient! As of now, roughly 20 chapters have been written, and the ending will most likely stretch between additional 5 and 7 chapters.
> 
> And as a smaller thank you, I have a one-shot ready to post for the weekend which is really just fanservice and porn. EDIT: It's _play with me now_ involving catboys Akeshu. Yeah.
> 
> **Thank you for any kind of feedback that you're willing to leave! It helps me so out so much and I'm a bubble of happiness for the rest of the day! It's also super helpful to give me a feeling on how you perceive the story so far - the plot after this will pick up a bit, and as of now, my current favorite chapter is on its way as well!!!**


	13. little tremors spread

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God you don't know how much I _struggled_ with this chapter. I still hate it with a burning passion.
> 
> Originally, this had three scenarios in total with only one involving Akechi directly - but all the scenarios I planned and had written turned out lackluster due the intensity of (Shadow) Akechi in the previous ones which I didn't take into account beforehand, leaving me with a mess to clean up.
> 
> So I just deleted the last scenario and threw Akechi into the second again to make it somewhat decent. I'm **far** from satisfied with it, but at least it's more readable than the original version.
> 
> As a compensation for the long wait and for the quality of this, I'll post the next chapter within a few days (which will, I hope, be a much better experience than this one.)
> 
> Beta-read by **BrownieQueen**. As always, thank you for your hard work and input!

Akechi is in an exceptionally good mood, and not even the fact that he had to leave the Metaverse after carrying Akira to bed (and coaxing him into sleep) could dampen it too much.

He has his first real interview on television after his official _success_ to attend to _,_ after all.

In another time, Akechi might have been angry at the prospect of having to parade in front of the media. Tired of limiting himself to his detective persona yet again, where he only has an impossibly small window to convey to the world in simplified words what he really thinks.

Oh, his opinion on the Phantom Thieves has never been particularly fake in any way. Not even when Akechi had shared that the group most likely wasn't related to the death of CEO Okumura – as much as it was a bait to lure them into the blackmail, what said had not been the fruit of fabricated lies.

He just wishes he could... say a lot _more_ about the entire matter without having to filter through almost the entirety of it. It would earn him a guaranteed backlash of fans and avid watchers worldwide, though - who are already sensitive enough when exposed to the most trivial things.

But the warmth sneaking under his skin when Akechi enters the train isn't coming from anger and frustration that usually creeps into his veins whenever he's on his way for a media appearance.

It's a content feeling, the lingering satisfaction of having done a challenging but great task seeping to the bottom of his soul, accompanied by the exciting prospect of fully reaping its rewards in the near future.

Akechi's entire consciousness still basks in the aftermath of having Akira _reach out to him._

When Akechi grips a pole to steady himself with his gloved hands, he avidly remembers how it felt to let the bare pads of his finger travel across a body that responsively arched into him, desperate for his touch.

God, it was the first time Akira had been so positively _responsive_ .

To see him not shy away from Akechi, but rather from his _Shadow,_ had been nothing but pure delight on his side. The fruits of his dedicated work finally laid bare in the form of steel eyes that always flickered back to him, seeking and accepting anything Akechi had to offer.

His thoughts are interrupted by some young, adolescent girls hesitatingly calling out his name. Only now does Akechi realizes that he must have forgotten to disguise himself to avoid scenarios such as these - clearly, he had been too enthralled by what happened only hours before.

It's a testament to how calm and sated Akechi feels that he, for once, doesn't mind giving several autographs and two selfies, offering smiles to another pair of flustered school girls who don't know that those aren't directed at them.

His grip on the pen doesn't falter when a woman comes a bit _too_ close to let him sign her phone case, but the train arrives at his stop anyway, so Akechi finds it in himself to even send a charming wink towards her as he leaves through the automatic doors, imagining how jealous the now blushing woman would be if she knew he pictured Akira's face instead of hers.

People rush to usher him backstage as soon as he enters the building of his usual TV station, already recognizing him from afar since he forgot going incognito today.

One of his many, usual managers shoves a script into Akechi's hands right when he sits down in front of a mirrored table. As if on cue, two masked women descend on him, starting to do his makeup and style his hair.

Akechi briefly skims over the content of the script, confirming that it aligns with what he already thought about saying since the moment he got credited with the Phantom Thieves' leader's capture.

With his experience and the fact that the show business stays the same in its predictable concept no matter where you go, such matters merely require one or two thoughts.

He throws the clipped sheets of paper back onto the table with an inward smirk, allowing himself to relax in the cushioned chair.

He'd follow it – for the most part.

Akechi idly scrolls through his social media while the stylists get their job done. He contemplates whether he should post a photo of the teriyaki Akira had done the evening he came back or not - his food blog could really use some more updates, just like his several other accounts.

Still, Akechi hadn't really found it in himself to go after countless staged hobbies and interests with the same determination as usual if he could just pursue his thief instead.

Before he can finish weighing the pros and cons if he were to use the picture of Akira openly making the teriyaki (he'll have to blur his face) to gloat about him (not that they'd understand – not now, at least), the two women working on his appearance step away.

A quick glance into the mirror confirms that his face looks fresher than before, less worn and serious. His hair is softer as well, gently framing his face in a way that accentuates the false side of his even more.

Akechi flashes the artists his teeth, which both mistake for a smile as he stands up, patting down his coat.

Some man takes him by the arm to direct him to the TV set as if it's his first time, and now Akechi has to consciously level his breathing to not lash out at such a patronizing act.

When the man finally lets go of his arm, only the dangerous glint in Akechi's eyes in midst a polite face has him scrambling before he can open his mouth and sputter more, useless instruction.

Like a swarm of fish, the awaiting audience leans forward in one, synchronized motion as soon as he steps onto the set.

Akechi resigns to his fate while the chattering grows a little more shallow, everyone now hyper-aware of his presence. He bows to both hosts and the audience before he sits down, starting to count the seconds until he could leave this wretched place.

The female host's unnervingly high-pitched voice is... less annoying than usual.

Akechi manages to indulge the hosts in a round of unnecessary small talk while the camera-team around them gets the last bits ready, adjusting stage-lights that are already perfectly angled, checking the various equipment just one more time.

Akechi doesn't bother paying too much attention to what he's conversing about – for that, he has his sub-conscious and trained media personality to take care of it. 

As expected, he's doing quite well. The male host continues to laugh fondly at him while the female one (who's only really there to gather a boost in rating) is doing a poor job at hiding growing blushes behind a hand.

Akechi inwardly scoffs. They're so disgustingly easy.

The hushed conversations all around him come to an end when the producer gives the countdown for airing, and Akechi wills his thoughts back from dark, familiar places to artificial lights and laughter that always gives him a headache if he's subjected to it long enough.

The hosts greet him like they usually do.

Akechi inserts lame jokes in his own introduction.

The audience laps everything up like he's a world-renowned comedian instead of a high school detective trying to carve his place into the world.

It's when the topic finally shifts to the inevitable one that Akechi _really_ looks at the hosts, reeling himself from autopilot to manual.

"I would never have imagined that their leader would commit suicide," the older man says, looking from the audience to Akechi. It's already been more than a week since that got announced, but the host still handles it like it's fresh out of the oven. "Akechi-kun did you... anticipate this curious turn of events?"

Akechi shakes his head, expression a friendly neutral. "Oh, certainly not to this extent."

He pauses and lets his gaze sweep over the audience for a heavier effect; his upper body angled towards them to seem more accessible.

"But it is important to note that he was the mastermind behind the recent commotion. Getting captured must have wounded his pride irreparably."

Akechi stops, lets his previous analytic tone take on a sad, compassionate one as if the mere mention of such things inflict regret within him. "Such things often happen to insurgent leaders. Especially when his... _allies_ prove to be naught."

"According to the police, the whereabouts of the other members are still currently unknown," the female hosts says, looking intently at him. He notes that there's a cluster of black clumps on her left eyelashes, smudging her cheeks just a little every time she blinks.

Akechi doesn't know how that got pasts the stylists, and resists the urge to point it out.

The other man picks up again. "Considering they no longer require testimony from the leader, the investigation will be hard to-"

"May I butt in for a second?" Akechi inquires, the insides of his hands tingling with anticipation.

This is exciting - much more than usual.

The male host tries his best to look surprised, but his tone is uncannily slimy as his face softens. "Of course."

Akechi's left hand comes up to rest under his chin, the other arm under the elbow to support it – his trademark thinking pose, which is only a real habit when he's actually making an effort to figure something out.

"The Phantom Thieves may have laid low since then... but they must not be excused." Perhaps the narrowing of his eyes, the small smirk tugging at his lips is the most honest he's ever been in front of a staged audience.

He sees their anticipation, smiles a bit wider as he continues in an unsettlingly quiet tone, successfully luring them in. "Oh, I don't really care if they come after me. In fact, I _want_ them to – I promise that each one of them will be in for quite the... surprise."

The eyebrows of the hosts' furrow since it isn't really what he was _supposed_ to say, but also because it didn't exactly derail from the script given to them.

The audience starts applauding reluctantly, unsure if he finished or not. Akechi blinks, pretends to be a bit flustered as he rakes a hand through his silky hair, wishes it would be someone else's.

Only about 37 minutes to go until he's at his apartment: taking the show, the wrapping up, and train ride (including a possible delay of 5 minutes) into consideration.

2218 seconds left.

The host looks at him with some sort of hesitance. "Somehow, I've imagined this declaration to be grander. More... passionate, perhaps." His female co-worker nods.

Akechi chuckles, demeanor back to normal. "Well, my mind is quite made up. I'd like to interpret my lack of... _passion,_ as you call it, as a tranquil, but solid form of resolve that cannot be shaken."

_Not anymore._

That answer seems more to the hosts' liking. The man sends everyone a large grin, not missing the opportunity to make excessive gestures at Akechi. "Wow, what a cool-headed attitude he displays in such a situation! As expected of ace detective Goro Akechi!"

God, his first name sounds horrible from a filthy mouth.

How long will Akira take to use it?

  
There's a second round of applause going through the studio, the clapping almost too loud for Akechi's ears. His mask stays perfect aside from a short twitch of his fingers, and the host continues, dwelling in blissful ignorance like the rest of them.

The corners of Akechi's mouth are starting to _hurt –_ at least he doesn't feel _too_ irritated yet.

"How about we use this opportunity to poll the audience? Those who believe the detective of justice will annihilate the Phantom Thieves, press your buttons now!"

All three turn to look at the screen displayed between both of the couches, and the mild satisfaction at seeing a perfect 50 actually does make his internal smirk grow a little wider. The shallowness of the public is palpable.

"My, everyone in the audience agrees!" the host states the obvious.

Akechi suddenly remembers the first time he crossed eyes with Akira here in the exact same setting that people somehow never get bored of.

Steel for eyes and words a weapon that has yet to be polished, but still cut sharper than anything Akechi heard during any interaction in his interviews.

He sees the audience, how everyone is leaned forward, totally immersed in his display.

Akechi shakes his head.

His previous content mood tamed by short, reminding fragments of Akira takes a turn for the worse as he becomes aware of the worthlessness in each and every person present once more, how hollow their eyes and minds are, sucking up what they're given like brainless robots.

Can they even think for themselves if all they do is nod and go along with the general flow?

"Looks like you can't back down now," the host remarks with a sly grin.

Akechi whips around and gives him one of his closed-eyed smiles that have a few females in the audience audibly swooning. "I will do the best I can. Oh, but I do have to study for my college entrance exams – one of the reasons I'm only able to give an interview now aside from the break I have to admit I needed."

There is nothing even remotely funny about what he said (quite the opposite, really), but everybody laughs anyway, the sound penetrating Akechi's skull.

He resists the urge to rub his fingers against his temple and digs them into the fabric of his pants instead, unnoticeable for everyone.

What banal _ignorance_.

How can people stand living in such a society? One that only sees the outer layer, the potential of how _useful_ they could be towards one? What benefits they reap?

Branding a person without ever having met, much less known them - then proceeding to talk about that person as if they'd grown up together as soon as they fit into a desirable pattern.

And only second to that is appearances – dark, imposing eyes are scary and considered threatening with unproportional bodies and mismatched faces, but the same pair on a guy like him, pretty hair and perfect face - and it's a match in heaven.

Mysterious and hot, not creepy and disgusting.

Every single one who's sitting here, lapping up whatever Akechi allows to leave his mouth like it's the word of god himself, is nothing but a failure, trash of society that has no meaning in this world.

How would they react if they knew of his past? Of the blood staining his hands that dried over and over again until the hope of removing it was lost?

They're so _ignorant_ of what is really going on about them, outwardly content with what they have, barely able to reach out past the familiar, safe bubble they're in, yet still greedy for more when no one looks.

It's disgusting, and not the first time Akechi wishes that the abilities the Metaverse gave him would transfer into the real world as well. To simply cleanse each and every individual he comes across of their filth he comes across; to end the suffering they don't know they're subjected to _and_ causing.

Sure – due to his abilities, Akechi has faster reflexes and an even greater eye for detail than before (more homicidal thoughts as well - he'll blame that on Loki), but it's nothing compared to being able to summon the chaos persona and just _slice_ through the masses without having to worry about anything else.

Action matter, not thoughts.

Well, not that it would do him any good if he were to do it _now_.

It would undoubtedly taint the image Akechi has been working himself to the bone for several years now, and if he would be able to expand his connection and build his resources if he’d keep at it a little longer...

Oh, the _possibilities._

"But still, wasn't their leader's suicide a letdown for you, given how long it took to apprehend him?" The question pulls him back, and Akechi uncrosses his legs, tilting his head as the host continues. "If it were me, I would've collapsed from the shock."

Certainly a pitiful, but not unlikely sight, Akechi thinks.

He crosses his legs again, tone growing solemn with an expression to match. "True. It did make me feel somewhat dizzy... but at the end of the day, the knowledge that I caught him alone can suffice me. It's comparable to a slightly bitter aftertaste to something sweet."

His undertone gets a bit more playful towards the end to alleviate the seriousness, and both hosts chuckle in response. Then there's a phone ringing for one, two seconds in the anonymous mass of people before it gets shut off.

"Hey, who is that!" the host calls out. "If you don't turn off your phone, the Phantom Thieves might change your heart!"

And Akechi would _really_ like to point out what complete nonsense this sentence was, _even_ for an exceptionally awful attempt at a joke.

However, he remembers that people are too incompetent to realize that because yes, the audience is _still_ laughing _._

Playing off a severe topic as if it is nothing but a child's tale gone awry.

Seeing the camera zoom into him out of his peripheral vision, Akechi can only flash a blinding smile towards it that overrides hidden, gritted teeth with frightening ease.

"A phone, huh? Just make sure to turn it off when you get to the movies."

###  December 18th, Sunday (Election day)

"I can't fucking believe this guy has won," Futaba growls, her small form a powerhouse of fury at the counter.

She's alone with Sojiro in Leblanc, Morgana curled up next to her on another, high stool.

While Futaba is distracted with navigating her little spider around a certain someone's apartment simply because she doesn't have anything better to do at the moment, it doesn't block out the voice of the reporters on TV.

The interview airing last evening had already been enough to ruin her mood yesterday.

Futaba spent agonizing minutes trying to figure out what she'd do, torn between simply shutting the feed down or letting it play out - she obviously opted for the latter, wanting to hear how Akechi would justify his actions in public.

More and more disdain had crept upon Futaba with each syllable he spoke - especially when Akechi addressed the remaining Phantom Thieves in a manner that only made it obvious to _them_ that it had been nothing but a taunt. 

And to make everything worse: Shido really winning prime minister election, the official announcement with his following speech having ended just a few minutes earlier.

"He has the support of millions," Sojiro reminds her, but looks anything but happy as he dries the mugs he just washed. "Shido may be a bastard, but he knows how to present himself. Back then, we laughed at his proclamations to becoming prime minister. Now, look where we are, me running a run-down café, him about to lead an entire country."

"Managing Leblanc is a much greater achievement than the lousy title of some position," Futaba huffs.

"Hah, tell that everyone else."

The conversation ends after that, and Futaba pulls out her phone, thumbs flying over the keyboard with rapid speed to address the high amount of tension that keeps her limbs awkwardly stiff.

It didn’t quite retract, not even after the election was over.

> **Futaba:** does anyone else think something should have happened during his speech??
> 
> **Ann:** It felt... dunno, kind of anticlimactic?
> 
> **Yusuke** : I'm glad to see that I have not been the only one overcome by a strange sensation while watching. It felt like waiting for a supposedly inevitable push over the edge that did not end up coming at all.
> 
> **Haru** : Up until now, we couldn't decide whether Akechi-san actually is doing everything out of his free will or if Shido is forcing him to do it, right? I think this proves that he really is just a supporter of him.
> 
> **Yusuke** : How so?
> 
> **Haru:** Well, we weren't able to catch him going to Shido's palace a second time after the first, accidental one. Maybe he just really never went back to clear it.
> 
> **Ann:** Oh, so it could have been for a special purpose only? Maybe some sort of specific information that can only be obtained through Shido's cognition?

"The shadows of people sometimes know more than their actual parts do in reality," Morgana meows from her shoulder. He had hopped onto it when she pulled out her phone, peering over the messages exchanged in the group chat. "It's not an unlikely theory that he merely went there to make his job easier in some way. Then again, that gives the question why he brought Akira with him. A show of power, maybe?"

> **Futaba:** mona just confirmed that it's valid reasoning
> 
> **Ann:** Well, that almost settles it then – Akechi really does seem to like Shido's ideals if he follows along so willingly.
> 
> **Yusuke:** So the immaculate circle around Shido's election day is just out of pure admiration?
> 
> **Futaba:** well, since we didn't get a mental shutdown on live television, i assume it is. idk where exactly i got this feeling from, but I think if i were akechi _and_ forced into killing all these people against my will, i'd get my revenge my inducing the same fate to _him_ on his career's biggest moment.

God, even imagining that sends all kinds of shivers down her spine.

> **Yusuke:** Given Akechi's theatrical nature, I believe that such a scenario would have been very likely for him.
> 
> **Yusuke:** And yet Shido is alive and well.
> 
> **Haru:** It's hard to believe that Akechi _doesn't_ have an ulterior motive. Something still feels odd, even if I can't really pinpoint what it is.
> 
> **Ann:** We should definitely keep our guard up

"Slimy bastards," Futaba mutters under her breath. "Both of them."

"While I agree with your opinion, you should be careful about what you're saying about them in public. You're lucky we currently have no customers."

Sojiro's voice makes her look up from her phone.

The apartment displayed on the laptop is still empty. Futaba almost _wishes_ for the detective to come back and do something as normal as watching TV on his stupid flat-screen so she can properly visualize her death threats with an actual body for reference.

She drags her gaze up to finally meet Sojiro's eyes. They're stern and solemn, always telling more than his mouth did.

"Sorry," Futaba mumbles. Seeing his gaze soften immediately afterwards, indicating he let her off the hook, she clears her throat. The relentless unease inside of her makes her want to fidget more than she usually does.

"Anyway. Shouldn't Leblanc be filled to the brim with people celebrating the choosing of the supreme one?"

Sojiro gives her a face and just barely manages to throw a hasty _welcome_ towards the door when the bell jingles.

"I'm flattered you think this is a place other people come to for celebrating."

"Well," Futaba says, adjusting her position on the chair, shooing Morgana from her shoulder back to his respective place. "The Phantom Thieves celebrated here plenty of times, right?"

"Futaba," Sojiro hisses under his breath, and she looks up to see an elderly pair staring at her, immobile at the door frame.

She scrambles for words, feeling anxiety creep through her limbs and replacing the previous, weird sensations tugging at them within moments.

Every letter feels like it’s too large to fit in her mouth. "It's- it's just a saying, don't worry! When you party hard with your… friends, you can refer to it as a Phantom Thieve get-together, y-you know?"

"Your lying is worse than Lady Ann's," Morgana exasperatedly calls out, but Futaba could care less with how much the woman's eyes seem to pierce through her very soul.

"Kid has followed the Phantom Thieves for a while now," Sojiro tries to diffuse the situation, offering calming hand gestures. "Don't mind her rambling. She'll forget all about it once the matter calms down."

The elderly woman slowly nods, expression losing some of the heat. "A relief that this ace detective finally caught their leader. All this nonsense can stop now. The suicide is regrettable, but given his past, it doesn't really surprise me much."

Futaba's heart still beats too fast to be angered properly by the words, but Sojiro's eyes narrow for her. Unsurprisingly, he's a lot better at maintaining his composure than her and smoothly changes the topic without so much as an eye blink.

"The usual?"

"That'd be lovely," the man responds, and the pair shuffles inside to settle down in the furthest booth at the back.

With the crisis averted and Futaba still frightened but somewhat able to breathe again, she sends Sojiro an apologetic and grateful look.

He fixes her with a telling one, but quickly enough, his eyes grow heavy, making him seem more like his age.

Sojiro's slouch is more prominent than usual when he starts working on the coffee for the new customers, and it speaks for a different kind of weight resting on his shoulders.

It suddenly dawns on Futaba that Sojiro probably knows the least about the entire situation with Akira.

While he's a 'no-nonsense' kind of man that had developed a relatively high tolerance against the weird stuff that involves Phantom Thieves regularly, he understands the Metaverse and its extend even less than Sae, his comprehension for it failing as soon as it starts expanding into the supernatural area.

The physical emptiness of the attic and the Phantom Thieves' concern is the only real evidence for Sojiro that Akira is genuinely missing – anything beyond is out of his reach, and makes for a loose foundation at best.

"Well, I do hope we can celebrate _something_ soon," Futaba dejectedly mumbles.

The tips of her finger still tingle with an unknown sensation that won’t go away, no matter how hard she presses them into the solid wood of the counter.

"Oh? I do hope I will get an invitation."

With speed she doesn't know she possesses, Futaba slaps her laptop shut, and Sojiro catches the cup he was about to take out just barely to prevent it from crashing.

Next to her, Morgana hisses loudly and arches his body in a way that makes him seem twice as large. Futaba wishes she could actually hide behind him.

Akechi steps into the café like he's no different from their regular customers, as if he doesn't hold Akira hostage in an alternative reality.

Bile rises in Futaba’s throat when she sees the same, picture perfect detective from yesterday evening invading the borders of her home.

Akechi deftly ignores everything and sits down on his usual place at the edge of the counter. He’s mindful enough to leave a free place between him and Futaba, but it does little to make Futaba _less_ aware.

There's no Akira to immediately rush to him.

"The regular please," Akechi hums, already opening his briefcase, pulling out a laptop in the most casual manner. Red-brown eyes flicker to her for the first time, as if he just noticed Futaba's piercing stare.

"Is there something wrong? Perhaps I've spoken too quietly? My apologies." Then, in a louder tone, "I'd like to order my regular coffee, please."

"Sojiro-chan's hearing has gotten progressively worse over the last weeks," the woman from before speaks up, completely unaware of the tension hanging in the air that feels like it could snap any second. "I have to repeat myself so many times that I gave up on counting. Hmm?"

Futaba turns her head a bit to see the elderly squinting her eyes at Akechi.

"Aren't you that detective kid? The same one that managed to put a stop to the entire Phantom Thief agenda?"

"I wouldn't go so far as saying I've _stopped_ it since their… influence is still quite large, but yes, I do happen to be that detective."

Futaba can practically feel the stare digging into her back.

"Why yes, I've noticed that. Still, you did an excellent job – to think a mere child would solve a case that all those capable adults struggled with!”

In her peripheral vision, Akechi's smile only grows. "Such kind words. Thank you."

He then turns around, stating in an abrupt but socially accepted way that this part of the conversation is over, and makes a show out of searching the room with his eyes.

"May I inquire where Kurusu-kun is? I mean no offense, Sakura-san, but he's usually the one to attend to me. I've grown quite fond of him."

" _Kurusu-kun?"_ Morgana hisses next to her, audibly mortified. " _Fond of him?"_

He looks like he's inches away from leaping towards Akechi to claw his face off.

Morgana might even get away with it, Futaba thinks, him being a cat and all, but clearly Akechi's behavior unnerves him just as much as her, preventing him from actually acting out on his desires.

Besides, a cat in a café is already bad enough – an attacking one would surely make for one or two headlines.

"What a slimy, wretched bastard."

Morgana's comment goes completely ignored as Akechi resumes to type on his laptop.

Futaba doesn't even bother taking a peek at his screen because she learned Akechi is too cautious to slip up in such manners and instead tries to get the heavy emotions curling inside her stomach in the most uncomfortable way under control.

Akira and Ryuji are unavailable, Haru is stuck in a business meeting with only her phone to keep her company, Ann is out feeding Yusuke in a restaurant, Makoto didn’t text for the majority of the day, _Morgana is a cat,_ _she is-_

He _knows._

The bastard fucking knows that with only the three of them that he isn’t in any sort of danger.

They can’t talk properly to him, can’t act against him – and anything that could _seem_ offensive Akechi will surely turn into leverage against them; spinning a story that would only serve to aid his own case.

They're powerless. _Futaba_ is, and Akechi is sitting there and _flaunting_ that very fact, smugness so palpable through his façade that it manages to melt some of the frostiness coating her skin because this entire situation is so wrong that _she wants to scream_ _but she can’t._

"Akira," Sojiro presses out, clearly making an effort to restrain himself, "is missing. So I'd… appreciate it if you wouldn't talk about him."

"Sojiro-chan has been rather gloomy ever since that happened! Completely understandable, of course. Heaven knows what I'd do if my one grandchild would suddenly disappear on me without a real clue."

A crestfallen expression falls onto Akechi in a heartbeat. "That's certainly tragic," he answers, slowly, as if the mere notion of his favorite barista _missing_ causes him physical pain. "My apologies, I didn't mean to bring up such a sensitive subject. I spoke out of place, not knowing the situation."

"Not knowing my ass," Morgana mumbles into Futaba’s direction.

"That being said, it's only natural that I will look into this case myself, then.” Akechi nods, determined. “As you might know, I have several interviews and shows to attend to from now on. It will be a bit… difficult, considering how packed my schedule is with that, but I’ll do the best I can once the rush is over.

“Oh, that reminds me.” Akechi tilts his upper body towards her, the gesture as easy and inviting as the smile dancing across his face is.

He is anything but that _;_ a predator cornering her even in an open space. “Have you perhaps watched the one airing yesterday evening?”

“I did, my dear!” comes the reply from the corner of Leblanc. Akechi doesn’t turn away from Futaba, and his presence continues to warp the previously warm, _safe_ atmosphere of Leblanc into something much more unnerving and unfamiliar. “I usually stay away from such shows, but me and by husband couldn’t help but listen to what you had to say after everything that happened.”

Akechi laughs. “I admit I was uncharacteristically nervous – it _was_ my first TV appearance after quite a while, and the broad opinion of the public can be quite unpredictable at times, no matter how well your intentions actually are.”

The woman clicks her tongue. “None of that, boy! Keep your head high and be proud of yourself! It must have been such a hard task, chasing after someone so elusive while keeping up with your regular life as well. God, just _imagining_ it has me exhausted.”

“Honestly speaking, I... dare say I even enjoyed it to an extend,” Akechi admits with a coy smirk only she can see. “I still can’t quite describe the satisfaction of seeing his real face after so many months. Oh, I do hope that didn’t make me sound presumptuous?”

_Wrong, wrong, wrong._

“Not at all, dear, not at all! No one can deny the joy that comes with the hunt.”

Akechi’s eyes didn’t leave Futaba’s for a single second during that entire conversation. His smirk cracks at the edges, scorching flames bleeding through to lap at her skin, even as he turns around.

The line of his mouth is set into a neutral one by the time Akechi hums again, light and airy. “I suppose that’s true.”

Futaba doesn’t want to be weak, doesn’t want to be shackled down by his ensnaring words, but with her inability to do anything it’s hard not to.

Is this how the Phantom Thieves felt when they watched Akira getting raped on stage? Fully aware of the situation, yet with no means to do something against it?

Ice instead of powerful fire coursing through their veins, making seconds stretch into minutes with how disconnected and connected they felt at the same time?

“As much as I happen to enjoy the cameras, I can’t wait for the buzz to die down so I’m able to focus on finding Kurusu-kun. After all, I find myself missing his coffee quite a bit." The smile falls off his face in a practiced motion. "Sorry, terrible joke. Force of habit, I'm afraid."

"I bet he forces Akira to make coffee for him every day and is just here to rub it into our faces that he-"

"It's fine," Sojiro unintentionally cuts Morgana off, gruffly putting a steaming cup down in front of Akechi with more force than necessary. Futaba absentmindedly notes that he got Akechi's order done before the other two.

"Enjoy, but please refrain from talking about him.” He leans a bit closer. “Actually, don’t talk at all and _get out of my sight as soon as possible._ "

The detective remains unaffected by the last sentence discretely hissed to him, and nods with empathy written all over his face. "It's the least I can do."

Akechi's eyes flicker to the TV screen hanging above the sink. There’s another recap of Shido’s election playing, but he watches only for a few seconds before he immerses himself into whatever work he's doing on his laptop, occasionally lifting his cup to his lips.

Like what he just saw is just another commercial to him.

Feeling irritation at Akechi’s lack of reaction bubble forth, Futaba inhales deeply.

She can do this. At least _something_ – to show that she isn’t as helpless as he makes her feel. She’ll-

She’ll text the Phantom Thieves about his presence in any second as well, too, but this is something she needs to get done on her own right now.

"A-akechi-san," Futaba starts, wobbly, but gaining more and more brittle confidence with each passing second. "How do you feel about Shido's election? If you're allowed to share your… political view, of course."

All Akechi does is giving her a normal, everyday smile she sees plastered all over the internet, and it feels like just looking at it shatters the little pieces of resolve she just arduously tried to form into something solid, threatening to dig into her skin if she dares to move.

Futaba really tries holding onto them, knowing she shouldn't feel this disarmed, this hopeless - just because of a harmless smile. 

"I usually refrain from doing that, but since we are in the secrecy of a secluded café, I will trust you not to openly share it with the friends you might have."

There’s a twinkle in his eyes that implies too much and tells to little.

Akechi taps the handle of his cup a few times, looking at it as if it holds all the secrets in the world. Even his eyebrows draw together.

"Shido-san… unites the people quite well, doesn't he? In unstable times like these, I believe the country needs a strong and firm hand to lead it back onto its right path."

He then meets her faltering gaze directly, tilting his head in a questioning manner before lifting his cup to take a sip from it.

"Wouldn't it be wonderful? To see how Japan will evolve under his rule? Rest assured that as much as everyone else, I will be anticipating his future decisions and actions."

There's a prominent _clank_ going through Leblanc when he settles his coffee down.

It's just as full as in the beginning.

The tension doesn’t leave Futaba even when his head turns back forward, clearly not expecting a response from her.

_Not needing._

The buzzing of her phone breaks her just enough out of her stupor to unlock it with shaking fingers. She flies over what's already been written, scrolling down to the latest messages.

Futaba needs to consciously read each word twice to make sense of them, her mind blurry.

> **Makoto:** Sorry for my late reply. I was busy.
> 
> **Makoto:** Let's meet for Akechi's palace tomorrow. Sae informed me that he has to attend a board meeting in the evening with her, so we can use that opportunity.
> 
> **Makoto** : I'm confident we can tackle the entirety of his third floor with how much we progressed. Now it's only a matter of time until we stumble upon cognitive personas, his treasure, or even his Shadow. Prepare well.

Along with the rest of the Phantom Thief members, Futaba sends a brief, affirmative text into the chat, still hyper-aware of the detective sitting next to her in the most casual manner, every cell of her body prepared for _something_ to happen.

Nothing does, because Akechi leaves earlier than she expected - the only evidence of his visit being money and an untouched cup of coffee on the counter.

Sojiro closes Leblanc early that day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _regarding the context: Most of what happens in the interview is canon dialogue, as you might have noticed. Ingame you trigger it automatically while clearing Shido's ship - just more proof that this universe begins to derail a bit, hm?_
> 
> _I also like to think some customers have gotten used to Morgana prowling in the cafe and don't say anything against it, as long as the cat stays behaved._
> 
> As always, thank you for reading, even if this chapter was... meh at best. I hope you could still somewhat enjoy it. Akira POV in the next one.


	14. you took me to the sky

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At the risk of sounding repetitive, I truly can't thank each and everyone who keeps writing a comment! Especially those who encouraged chapter 13 in... well, the last chapter ;;!
> 
> The last thing I do is want to _pressure_ anyone into writing a comment - I try to comment on works I read regularly myself, but of course I also have fanfictions where I just don't, and that's why I perfectly understand if I have ghost readers (who, for some reason or another, never commented) and that is totally ok! If you enjoy my works without voicing your thoughts, that's absolutely fine and I'm happy to provide you with food, even if I never get to know whether you liked it or not or what I could have done to improve the taste!
> 
> That's why I can also never stress _enough_ how grateful I am for the readers who take their time to write a comment (some of ya all are so loyal I can't-). It isn't an axiomatic matter, because you really go out of your way to write a few nice words, thoughts, maybe even critique. It's honestly so encouraging and empowering, so I _will_ always thank you for voicing your thoughts out, no matter how washed out you think my answers may be.
> 
> This one isn't beta-read, so I apologize for the grammar mistakes you're probably going to see at some point! Going back to (hopefully) usual update schedule next week.

###  December 20th, Tuesday

Cognitive Loki doesn't feel as menacing as the Loki that invaded the safe room, but the persona still manages to raise his senses to their highest awareness whenever it spins its glowing sword around, cackling manically from across the dance room.

After Akira had triumphed over cognitive Robin Hood, he'd only ever seen Loki afterwards - he supposes Robin Hood is either in an entirely different area now, or went back to its original master.

Shivers crawl down his spine at the memory of the dark palace ruler.

Akira doesn’t... fully know what to make of him.

A Shadow is an entity that shouldn’t even exist in the first place, crafted out of cognitive desires – a mere husk given shape, a puppet to actions predetermined to a specific degree by its palace.

It may be naïve to think like this, but Akira doesn’t necessarily fear the Shadow _itself –_ what makes the pieces of his sanity topple all over each other instead are the projected intentions lingering behind that pretty face.

The threats and capabilities that go unspoken, but couldn’t have been more obvious in the way Shadow Akechi finds ways to imply them.

What the Shadow _doesn’t_ bother hiding is what makes Akira’s instincts go haywire, tying up his nerves and reactions into a torrent of anxiety that fills every inch of his body until it feels like he’d burst.

How he didn’t recognize the blood lust emitting from Shadow Akechi during their second, maybe even first encounter is beyond his comprehension, but in hindsight, everything is so damn clear.

Akira let himself get blinded by the familiarity of his face, by the fancy clothing the Shadow adorned where Akira _kn_ _ows_ the white doesn’t stand for adjectives usually associated with such a pure colour.

Shadow Akechi hadn’t killed him like Akira wholeheartedly _knew_ he would – and that statement alone brings enough contradictions forth to make his head hurt even more.

For some god forsaken reason, Akira still survived, and that makes everything better and worse because it means the Shadow held himself back, withholding the extend of his potential.

Hell, Shadow Akechi didn’t even need to use any spells or personas to make Akira feel more stripped bare than any nakedness could. His sword and his eyes were more than enough.

Akira had been in countless of dangerous situations before – ambushed by shadows, alone in the Metaverse on the few occasions he needed a break from everyone. On the brink of death, only saved by either a last-second spell or sheer _luck._

Maybe Akira didn’t appreciate life until the moment his reigns got taken away from him.

Back then, he probably wasn’t even able to acknowledge what danger really entailed. But encountering Shadow Akechi showcased that exact lapse in awareness – even before hot lips pressed against the back of his hand, Akira felt everything he needed to realize his situation.

To an outsider it may have looked like a scene from a dark romance movie, but Akira could have never mistaken the seething intentions behind the mouth burning his skin down to the bone.

For only a brief second, he saw and acknowledged death.

And it continued to taunt and mock Akira as Shadow Akechi _touched_ him a day later.

How can he just forgetthe beast slumbering beneath that regal coat if he caught glimpses of it already?

Even when he’d been lost in a frightening sea of pleasure, Akira always felt the Shadow’s gloves digging too harshly, tugging at him in a fashion reminiscent of wanting to peel his flesh away to feast on what is beneath. 

Shadow Akechi was wild and uncontrolled, made Akira feel like a hopeless toy to be crushed underneath a boot after its use - and the only one who prevented that...

...

Akira bites his lips, dodges a destructive Laevateinn sent his way by only a hair width.

He knows he’s deprived, his mind constantly trying to adapt to the new conditions and factors unfolding around him - but seeing Akechi after _that_ again, the only person who barely left his side over the duration of the last months? It was a devastating experience. 

Akira had watched as Akechi entered the bedroom, face impassive, as if the detective didn’t know what to do despite the confidence he usually wears like a second skin.

Seeing that unleashed parts stored away in the darker corners of Akira’s mind - or clicked something back into place.

He can't quite tell yet.

The usual throbbing of his conscience had barely been present when Akira’s heart fluttered at the sight of Akechi – dulled by whatever sensation coaxed him into staggering towards the other male seconds later.

Akira nearly forgot himself the moment he was wrapped up by his presence; only managed to get a grip on himself by mentally chanting the few words of logic his coherence left him with over and over again.

In the end, it just barely prevented him from fully clinging to the other like his body desperately wanted to, but Akira was still able to simply _soak_ everything in with the limited contact he allowed himself.

It was pure relief.

Like experiencing the wonderful heat of a campfire in the coldest of winters.

Like coming home, even though Akira wasn’t been the one to leave.

Only by leaning against Akechi, so much _warmth_ had seeped into Akira that he nearly cried.

Complicated and simple thoughts alike vanished to make place for the feeling of simply basking in the knowledge that another person stood by your side, making no indication to move.

Threading in the wispy edges of his coherency, Akira had vaguely thought that Akechi would use that very moment of submission – to beat or touch him again because Akira had been so _tired_ , so lonely and afraid of everything dark that moved along the edge of his vision that he’d been willing to do anything if it meant Akechi would chase it away.

But Akechi kept to himself. Simply opted to put his hand on Akira’s head while mumbling soft, encouraging words into his ear that felt more like a soft caress of air instead of articulated sounds.

Within mere moments, Akechi managed to wash away all the dreading anxiety that built up within Akira for the entire duration of his absence.

It’s an unsettling ability.

But there were promises whispered to him – promises Akechi already spoke of before, but now got _through,_ forcing him see the real extend behind them.

Akira would like to resent Akechi for letting his Shadow touch him. The other is smart enough to put two and two together – Akechi _kn_ _ew_ who had been responsible for making Akira feel cornered even when curled into a small ball in the middle of a bed, praying the Shadow wouldn't be able to enter his room.

Akira has all the right to feel betrayed. He bared himself open and let Akechi see – and while Akechi didn't act on it immediately (Akira wouldn't have been able to forgive _that_ ), he used that very vulnerability later on against him.

But Akira also knows that he went against Akechi's orders _again._ It hadn't been too much of an issue this time (he shivers when thinking of other methods Akechi could have used) and it was easy to overlook everything when it comes to the most important result that prevailed over its circumstances:

Akechi stayed.

Even though he had several, _all_ opportunities to do so, Akechi didn't break his promise and stayed.

He could have left Akira, could have let his Shadow confirm everything Akira began to truly fear _._

He didn't.

Sure, Akira had struggled at first when the other consciously let his Shadow near him, felt hurt and dread overtaking his senses once more – but in midst of it all, Akira became aware of Akechi's presence directly by his side, and it became clear that Akechi hadn't moved an inch, offering gentle looks and even gentler touches when Akira felt like he was dying all over.

His ministrations may have gotten rougher at some point in time, but it was nothing compared to Shadow Akechi's consuming voracity that made arching into Akechi akin to the sensation of being able to breathe again.

In hindsight, it doesn't even feel right to call it punishment anymore.

A reminder?

Another promise?

Akira realizes that he overlooked another, important dynamic of that day.

Akechi was actively _protecting_ him from his Shadow – or rather, showing that he could. That he is able to conquer the darkness that begun to spread through Akira with a vigorous fever simply by being there.

Akira knows he isn't mistaken because he saw the looks Akechi gave his counterpart each time his Shadow pushed Akira too close to an edge that wasn't pleasure. And each time that happened, Shadow Akechi backed off on an inaudible command in the last second, stepped aside to let Akechi reel Akira back into the safety of his arms.

And if Akechi could protect him from the very being that ignited a fear so primal within Akira that it's nearly impossible for him to describe with words, what _else_ could he do for him?

Akira can't recall too much of what happened at the end of it all. There were Akechi's arms carrying him to a shower and then to bed, belonging to a body that didn't waver, no matter how much Akira clung to it.

Didn't falter when Akira reached out to burry his fingers in chestnut strands as Akechi spread his legs, taking him into his mouth while smiling through his eyes to show him that everything was alright; giving Akira the release he'd been aching for and most likely didn't deserve.

It had felt beyond good - cathartic, like a weight fell off of him, like a gaping space just stitched itself together.

Akira's memories give up after that. Not that he needs to remember it in detail, because it's obvious what happened - the rest of the events are always wrapped in a comfortable cloud of fuzzy pleasure and simple contentment whenever he tries to recall them.

Akechi could have left him again, could have left him with his Shadow-

-he didn't, he stayed, embraced him and didn't whisper anything about thieves, just how proud he was of him, how good he'd been – god, it had felt _wonderful,_ especially when he woke up hours later and Akechi was _still_ there, offering a lazy smirk as he brushed strands of hair out of Akira's face who had been too stunned to even blink.

Akechi is... a steady, warm presence that sometimes spikes into unbearable heat but fills the growing void within Akira so effortlessly.

Even the parts being actively _carved_ out of him.

And maybe Akira should be more concerned about the fact that he's aware of whom the hands doing that belong to, but does it matter when Akechi tries to make up for that?

Akira already knows it's pointless subjecting himself to pain. But why settle for.. neutrality if he can achieve something better than that?

Akira gave in _once,_ _just a little,_ and what Akechi gave him in return already felt so overwhelmingly much.

Still does.

So much that even now, there's the same kind of emptiness eating away his insides that had been present when Akechi was in Niigata - and the last time Akira saw Akechi had only been a few _hours_ ago. 

_"You need me_."

Only the knowledge that the detective promised to return as soon as possible made the discord within him a lot more bearable than the first.

Irrational thoughts that never crossed his mind before suddenly erupt out of nowhere.

What if Akechi finds someone else? What if he gets bored of Akira? Will he care enough to kill him, then? Or will he simply let Akira rot in his palace forever, not bothering with his presence any further?

Some vaguely familiar parts of his mind scream _yes,_ _get away while you still can_ with a force that Akira is mildly taken back.

Akira furrows his eyebrows - he _can't_ get away. What are they talking about?

He doesn't need to waste more thoughts on that because a deeper, richer voice that overpowers the others before they can say more.

No, he wouldn't.

He cares.

He cares so much that it's hard to put into word, _and I'll_ _always come back. "_ _I'll never leave you,_ _not like your_ _fri_ _ **ends, those pieces of tra-"**_

Akira closes his eyes.

_"I want everything you have to offer. When everyone casts you aside like a used toy they grew bored off, I'll be there to pick you up and mend you back into something they wished they saw in the beginning."_

Around him, Akechi smirks more than he smiles, something Akira doesn't mind because it fits his face just a bit better.

His detective side is still shining through at times (Akechi won't be ever able to get _fully_ rid of it with how much he _lives_ it), but not to the extent where it's just for _show._

Most of the time, Akechi seems to be... himself.

His face isn't as soft with Akira as it had been prior the heist on his palace, and his words are snarkier, wittier, and so much more flirtier than he could have hoped.

Akira would lie if it didn't _feel_ like Akechi.

Even when they tear through Shido's palace, it's like watching a barely tamed animal go back into its natural habit.

Akechi is ruthless, slices at enemies like they never had a right to live in the first place, is talkative in a way Akira never thought him to be. Remnants of shadows and blood stain his white clothing the moment they exit a safe room, and Akechi seems to bloom in a way he hadn't been able to while they were still walking through the halls of a casino.

Isn't that exactly what Akechi is trying to tell him?

That letting go is alright and acceptable and valid?

Akira can see that Akechi lives by that decision. He seems so sure of each and every one of his movements, knowing what to do and what to say at what exact time.

Akira already had debated with himself over that very topic, but locked such thoughts away when he realized he couldn't come to a conclusion. Now, since the argument in his head had started to descend into white noise barely noticeable (what did he forgot again? Does it matter, anyway?) to him unless he concentrates, those thoughts surface once more.

Just like Akechi continues to invade his mind. Not as forceful and sharp as before, but rather gentle and with a n underlying pressure.

This time, it feels like if Akira were to reach out, he'd actually be able to grab flesh and bones instead of just empty air.

Maybe he could try. Just a little bit. His.... friends are doing ok without him, right?

They should be. Or they aren't.

Is he-

are they?

"You're distracted!"

A flaring pain in his shoulder shatters his train of thoughts immediately.

Oh, right.

Technically, Akira is still in the middle of a fight.

He feels support magic reflexively flooding his body from one of his healing personas he snatched on the crusader, but it can't stop the amount of unfathomable pain momentarily taking his senses hostage.

With blurry eyes, Akira manages to lay sight on a glowing sword embedded in his body, cleanly digging into the left side of his chest. Its user hovers above him, offering a mocking tilt of its head.

"What a waste of time," Loki lets out in a huff, and more pain shocks his system when it pulls the weapon out in one, sharp motion. Flesh and blood chase after it, and Akira hisses because another, painful throb makes its way through his body.

With the weapon out, it's considerably easier to heal the wound, though, and gaping flesh closes within several seconds, leaving Akira more sweaty and exhausted than before.

It hasn't been too long since he sparred with Loki, and while he didn't sustain many or exceedingly painful injuries, Akira still feels drained for some reason or another.

He can't muster the energy to lift himself up, so he chooses to remain on the floor, chest heaving up and down. Arsene retreats back inside him, giving Akira just enough energy to adjust his position so that he isn't lying on his own arm anymore, cutting off the blood circulation.

The three, long braids that used to move in unpredictable waves around him settle into a slow waltz as Loki looms over him, back on top of its sword.

"Your mind wanders," it grumbles, almost akin to a complain. "I have no qualms beating you up while you're distracted, but you're so far gone that there is no joy in seeing you bleed."

Cognitive Loki may not be the actual Loki, but it's still a force that sends him to the floor within the first ten minutes of a fight.

It's an embarrassingly short amount of time, given how drastically Akira improved under the firm hands of Akechi and his cognitive personas.

In contrast to Loki, Robin Hood fights slower while more precise. Robin isn't nearly as agile as Loki is, but the mass of its body is something it can control well and use to its advantage. In addition to that, Robin Hood always seemed to think a few steps ahead of Akira, somehow knowing when Akira would feint, when he'd dodge and when he'd just take a hit in order to catch the persona off-guard and get close to strike a vital point.

In short, Akira had adapted to being predicted.

Loki, on the other hand, is spontaneous, wild, rash, lives in the moment, changes when it wants to, and has no care for its own body whatsoever. Not that it needs to – Akira has never been able to do a serious hit on the chaos persona with Arsene anyway because he fights so utterly different from Robin Hood.

A few scratches at most, and then that'd always send Loki into a frenzy, quickly sealing Akira's fate within the next minute, reminding him that no matter how easy the shadows on the crusader are, beating Akechi is still on an entirely different level.

God - he'd have to change his fighting style again, won't he?

Akira groans, and contemplates about standing up for the entirety of three seconds before he decides that being on the ground for a few more minutes won't hurt him.

More than a few minutes must have passed, because Akira feels like he took a short, ground-level nap by the time a gloved hand cards through his hair, slowly making him stir from his state of half-consciousness. 

He immediately relaxes into the touch, the weight on his head familiar and comforting. A blissful sigh escapes him. Akira really doesn't want to move and risk chasing it away.

Akechi always seems fixated on any part of his face – whether it's his hair, eyes, cheeks, or even chin, and in moments like these, where Akira is a prisoner to such pleasant sensations (he always is), Akechi fully abuses the opportunity and Akira lets him.

He’s tired, and the hands feel good.

They’re Akechi’s.

It makes him relax just a little more.

"Loki says your performance was pitiful at best," Akira hears him say, and he groans softly, wills to open his eyes.

Not that he had any hopes of successfully hiding the fact that he's awake in the first place.

Akira's sight is blurry for a few seconds before his vision finally adjusts to the lights, and he can make out the form of Akechi hovering over his face.

As if the sight triggers the rest of his awakening senses he becomes aware that his head is, in fact, on Akechi's lap. The realization settles something weirdly tender inside of him, but Akira remains unfazed as he really _looks_ at the other's upside down face.

Akechi's face is rather neutral, but in the depths of slightly narrowed, maroon eyes lingers a familiarity that prompts Akira to give a low hum. Now that the emptiness within him is vanquished once again, Akira chooses to bask in the attention a little longer while he takes the other's attire in.

It's a bit hard to do so from this angle, and it takes a few awkward turns of his head (which have Akechi raising an eyebrow), but eventually Akira is able to conclude that Akechi wears a long, beige trench coat with a surprisingly colorful scarf wrapped protectively around his neck.

Akechi looks... good.

It's not hard for Akechi to do that (or for Akira to admit it), but it's rare to see Akechi in normal clothes like this. It's also the first time Akira sees him in this particular outfit, too, and it's a welcome change to anything that usually relates to the standard detective attire.

This trench coat makes him looks a mature kind of handsome, while the scarf softens those sharp lines a bit. 

Akechi looks cozy.

Like someone Akira would want to cuddle himself into when snow falls in rich flakes all around them.

By the widening of Akechi's smirk, Akira knows some of his thoughts must have slipped out. Or Akechi _really_ is proficient in mind-reading him.

The worry about _that_ statement being true kind of slips off his grasp when Akechi's fingers draw circles into that one specific spot just near his scalp, and Akira channels the rest of his weak willpower to not let out an embarrassing sound he'd forever deny making.

"Looking cozy wasn't my intention, but I'm glad it seems to harbor favorable side-effects aside from its functionality. The coldest times, after all, are about to approach with Christmas."

Ah, that's right.

Akira is only out of the Metaverse when they go to that ship, so it's kind of hard for him to keep an accurate track of time.

He'll probably spend Christmas with Akechi, won't he?

"Now I know what Loki meant with you being distracted."

Akira only blinks at him. Akechi lets out an inaudible sigh and adjusts his position a bit so – Akira can sink down even further into the warmth, yeah.

"Your coat is cool," Akira suddenly finds himself saying, wincing at the raspy tone of his voice. "Why don't I have a cool coat?"

Seems like Loki stabbed not only his shoulder, but also grievously wounded his aptitude for conversations as well. 

Akira is vaguely aware that he doesn't make for a flattering sight – since his Metaverse outfit had long flickered away, he surely paints a wonderful contrast to the immaculate form of Akechi with his loose jogging pants and a simple t-shirt.

Granted, they're still of better quality than what Akira ever possessed, but it serves little to make him feel less ridicioulus.

Akechi doesn't seem to mind too much, although he does stop the ministration of his hand. Akira lets out a a whine which only makes Akechi chuckle.

God, this close and without _detective_ intentions in it, his voice sounds too good to be true.

"I could bring you one," Akechi coyly says, then ushers Akira out of his lap to stand up and offer him a hand. "But... we could also pick one out for you."

Akira's breath hitches. He's still quite tired, and the notion of being able to slide under the covers of his bed is a very tempting one, especially if he can convince Akeci to cu-

Akira blinks.

If Akechi is proposing what Akira thinks he's proposing, sleep can wait.

He props himself up on his elbows. "We? Are you suggesting that... we go outside? Outside outside?"

The glare Akechi sends him is impatient and holds no bite. He rolls his eyes after that. "Of course. In case you aren't aware – my palace is a _theater_ , not a shopping mile."

There's the briefest throb on the inside of his temple, as if there's something wrong with how casually Akechi says that sentence.

"Oh," Akira simply says, immersed how Akechi is able to make an eye roll gesture _attractive._

"Why are you so surprised? Must I remind you that you are no prisoner of mine?"

Since Akechi starts to look like he's going to finish what cognitive Loki didn't if Akira doesn't do something soon, he accepts the hand.

The leather is pleasantly warm on his hand. The familiarity of it sends a comforting tingle up his arm, and then a tug follows and their chests collide for a brief moment before Akira catches his balance. A hand steadies him around his waist, asserting soft pressure to keep him there.

Not that Akira has many intentions to leave, anyway.

Akechi's gloves burns through the flimsy layer of his t-shirt, and Akira thinks he shouldn't enjoy how easily they slot together. He bites the inside of his cheek when Akechi leans forward, enough to make the small height difference they have more notable. 

"It'll be your reward," Akechi purrs. "For defeating Robin Hood."

And Akira is not prepared for the burst of happiness suddenly flaring through him when he hears _reward._ He tries to say something, not knowing _what_ caused his inability to speak, but the emotions hogging the space of his lungs and mouth are so persistent that the only sound Akira can make is... something distinctively happy.

_A reward._

Since his mouth doesn't cooperate with him, Akira dumbly nods, and goes rigid when he suddenly has a nose full of soft hair smelling like burned cinnamon.

"But first," Akechi says, low and promising and so close to his ear that something sparks low within his gut and – Akechi's voice turns remarkably flat in an instant as he pulls back again to give him an unimpressive look. "You're going to take a much needed shower."

And just like that Akechi leaves him, leaving a flustered and irritated Akira in the middle of the dance room.

"Do hurry up, we don't have all evening," Akechi says, already through the door.

Akira can only scramble after him.

A rational person would probably already think of a plan. How to effectively use a changing booth maybe, or how easily it would be to slip undetected into the masses if Akechi is distracted for even a second too long.

But he remembers the sprain of his wrist and snow that refused to melt on Akechi's face. Droplets of water washing away grime and dirt, submerging his thoughts into pleasant sensations unknown to him.

And an emptiness in red-brown eyes that looked at him with so much _longing_ that it makes the entire matter heavier than it already is. 

The parts of Akira's hand and waist that came in contact with Akechi still burn, even as water mindlessly washes over them.

Akira thinks about whether he gets his wallet back, what color he wants his coat to be, and if it would be cheesy if he were to get the same model as Akechi.

* * *

Makoto is in the middle of having dinner when her phone vibrates with multiple notifications.

Sae gives her a raised eyebrow as she continues to ignore it, but Makoto pointedly cuts a small piece of steak, dips it in sauce and puts it into her mouth with a grace that speaks of perfected practice.

The phone keeps buzzing, occasionally letting out sounds that quickly give Makoto a headache.

"Are you not going to check?"

She presses her lips together. It's been so long since she has had dinner with Sae like this – alone, at... some sorts of ease, which only really consists of her blending out school and responsibilities and the last floor of a theater and the messages on her phone out.

Sae never had the change of heart Makoto wanted her to have, but it still seems like _something_ changed when Sae got behind the meaning of having a palace and learning what Akechi plotted behind all of their backs.

And it's really, really nice, talking about mundane things more openly than before. But Sae also still asks her about school and grades, initiates a pressure on her that stems out of different wishes now.

It's not enough.

At least, that's what she would have said weeks ago, when she had ignored the outline of the bigger picture that continued to expand before her eyes earlier than anyone else's.

Now, Makoto is trying her best to prevent what she still has from slipping through her fingers.

"It's rude to be on your phone while eating," Makoto says, perhaps a bit colder than intended.

Sae gives her a pointed stare. "With the amount of texts you're getting, it sounds important enough to make an exception."

Makoto bites back an answer.

Mutedly she puts her utensils down to pull out her phone. She ignores the top message, and skimps over the dozens in the group chat.

All mostly from Futaba, meaning it's most likely related to the root of all of her headaches.

"What is it?" Sae asks, intrigued. Makoto furrows her eyebrows as the incoherent spam of Futaba starts to make sense. "It's the Phantom Thief chat," she mumbles. Her heartbeat suddenly picks up. "Akechi is with Akira inside of his apartment."

"Inside of his- what? How do you know that?"

"Futaba's bug also has a small camera."

"A rather crass method, but I suppose it's justified with the bigger picture in mind." Sae picks the last pieces of her salad up, then falters. "Wait. That means both are in reality right now, doesn't it? What is Akechi planning on doing?"

"I don't know," Makoto hastily says. This doesn't make sense. What is he going to do now of all times?

Ann and Haru begin flooding the chat in tandem, making it even harder to keep up with Futaba's texts.

Was Akira really in his palace the whole time? But yesterday they hadn't found anything, searched in every nook and corner, suspected that Akechi must have moved Akira to a different place outside of his theater to explain his lack of presence (it still doesn't explain the lack of a _treasure_ or his Shadow) – but that theory just fell into the water, making the messy situation even harder to handle.

Makoto just wanted to have a normal dinner for once and pretend that everything is ok.

"I don't know what's going on," she murmurs, still staring at the screen. "He's- They're inside of his kitchen, but nothing makes sense. Not considering what happened yesterday."

Despite Futaba's bug, they've never gotten footage or proof of _both_ of them actually leaving Akechi's apartment together. This footage at least proves that Akira is physically well, even though the circumstances for why they left the Metaverse exactly are still unclear. 

Makoto takes note of how Akira doesn't appear to be showing signs of resistance. 

"Then you should go and find out," Sae urges her, and then stands up to take away their half-eaten plates before Makoto can make a move herself. "I would help, but I don't have the abilities you have. All I can do is keep an eye on him and see what he might do."

Makoto's expression falls. She feels genuinely dejected, but she can't pass this opportunity, even if the comfortable silence had given her the illusion hat everything might not be as bad as it seems.

"I'm sorry," Makoto begins, but Sae waves her off. "It's fine. Kurusu is your leader, right? That's the responsibility you have as teammates."

Makoto winces, kludging her arm. "I know," she says. She's all too aware of that.

Makoto sends a quick chat to the group, after which everything is a bit more organized. If Futaba's bug doesn't play tricks of them, Akechi and Akira are still in his apartment, so they agree to head there immediately. 

The notion of Akechi making himself and Akira a quick _dinner_ is ridicioulus, but if it gives them time to collect themselves - well, Makoto would take it. She shakes her head to get the absurd image out of her mind, and pockets her phone to stride towards the door.

"Text me if I can help in any way for me possible," Sae reminds her from the kitchen.

 _You can help by staying in this apartment_ , Makoto wants to say.

"And Makoto?"

"Yes?"

"...be careful."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _regarding the context: One of the things I want to mention is that Akira sees Shadow Akechi as a complete separate being. While he does recognize it's not your usual standard human where specific parameters can apply in their interpretation, he fails to connect that those desires technically come from Akechi. poor boi._
> 
> _Shido's ship will also be discussed - I have not forgotten! Akira just kind of blends it out in this chapter._
> 
> _In case it slipped past you, I 'skipped' a day here (the 19th), so some of Makoto's thoughts don't come out of nowhere :)!_
> 
> Next chapter is gonna be one of my favs. Tbh after editing it several times it's not as... good as it made me initially feel, but I like the themes I put in it. I think. Welp.
> 
> And because I'm finally getting out of my shell:  
>  [My (mostly) Akeshu twitter!](https://twitter.com/voraciousTash)


	15. tonight, don't stop

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Sorry, re-upload because I'm stupid >>**
> 
> Ahhhhh my heart died several times during the last chapter lol. So many people commented, urgh. Can't thank you all enough for that, seriously! It's always hard to describe the sheer amount of gratitude I feel.
> 
> Remember when I said I had a line with foreshadowing for a much later chapter in chapter 8? It was literally _impossible_ to find out because it was so unimportant lol, I'm sorry for deceiving everyone XD It was right after Haru and Morgana accidentally followed Akeshu onto Shido's ship, and then discussed what they've seen in Leblanc. 
> 
> _“Aren’t elections going on at the moment? Maybe you can find your culprit there.” He points to the TV, but the news broadcast apparently just ended, and a commercial about a new clothing shop in Kichijoji starts to play, advertising a series of coats and scarfs._
> 
> ... :D hehe.
> 
> Beta-read by [BrownieQueen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrownieQueen/pseuds/BrownieQueen) <3 And yes I'm slowly starting to get html work done... ;;

Ann nearly slips on the wet tiles of her bathroom when she finally manages to decipher the onslaught of Futaba's messages invading the Phantom group chat. Still, she is able to somewhat dry her hair and dress in record-time after _understanding_ the content. Grabbing her coat, hat, and throwing a thick scarf around her, she practically sprints out of the door, heart beating in time with her own steps.

They meet up halfway to Kichijoji, each looking anything but put-together with how spontaneously this is, but all sport the same, determined expression on their faces.

It's a small ray of light in the midst of the darkness Akechi's last floor plunged them into.

With hushed voices, they discuss their currently available options and quickly decide to tail Akechi first to assess him and see what he plans on doing. Chances are high that he brings Akira to another palace (the only conclusion that made sense, judging with how they found literally _nothing_ yesterday). If luck decides to play into their favor as well, it might even be the same palace Akechi is likely to hold Ryuji in.

The notion of confronting the detective inside the Metaverse after such a long time evokes an uncomfortable, brooding feeling within her. However, at the same time, it's the sole thing they've trained for these past months – seizing Akira from Akechi's clutches as soon as they slipped into the alternative reality simultaneously is something Ann can genuinely say she feels confident in, now.

Compared to when Ann had started acting as Panther, the whip in her hand now feels incredibly light, barely taking any effort from her side to channel rapid combo attacks with. The spells she can cast through Carmen are on such a different level of power that she still feels a bit light-headed whenever her fires consume an entire room along with the shadows in it, earning sounds of awe from her teammates more often than not.

And maybe they can even act _before_ Akechi gets the chance to activate the Metaverse app – as long as they're in a desolated area with no witnesses. The Phantom Thieves could forcefully get their leader back – a direction Ann doubts they would have ever considered before this all happened.

With their advantage in numbers, not only would it be a highly successful scenario in terms of physical power, but Akechi would also have a lot of explaining to do if he were to report them for assault afterwards, considering the fact that Akira Kurusu is officially _missing_ , after all.

There are still other factors they'd have to bear in mind, though, such as Akechi being able to manipulate evidence or the police into his favor after that happens – they have no doubts of his capability to do so. It's the only matter that makes them hesitant about taking a more forceful approach.

Nonetheless, it's still the smartest idea to lay low first.

Not much is said on the train ride after they've discussed that. The vehicle's bustling noise and the occasional murmurs around them make up for their lack of conversation. The consensual silence only is broken by Futaba, who keeps them updated on Akechi's whereabouts (still in his apartment), eyes glued to her phone.

Ann leans towards her, looking over her shoulder and – surely enough, it still shows Akira and Akechi sitting at a high counter of a kitchen, eating what looks like instant ramen.

Ann would have entertained such thoughts prior Akira's kidnapping maybe, where it was still easy to blend out that Akechi was going to betray them – the notion of them eating something so simple while sitting close to each-other _now_ paints an absurd image in her head, but it's hard to laugh and play it off as a mere fantasy when Futaba's screen couldn't be clearer.

Ann really can't figure out the exact reason why their leader manages to sit perfectly still next to Akechi and abiding his wishes – then again, Akira has always been the person to keep the coolest head in even the most dangerous situations, and Ann won't put it past Akechi to have threatened him in some form before taking him to reality.

A collective sigh of relief goes through the group when the train arrives at their destination. They hurriedly exit, the larger number of their group parting the busy crowd relatively easily. Not needing to follow Futaba's map after having memorized the way to his apartment countless of times due to their raids, they find a secluded corner behind a wall just near it and chose to wait for the pair there.

Yusuke is the one to keep an eye out on the street while Makoto joins Futaba, looking over her shoulder to see the live footage. Ann and the rest blend into the wall with the shadows, aware of the suspicious image they surely must paint for any bypassing person if they cared to look into the darkness.

"They're moving out," Futaba suddenly hisses, quickly pressing herself to the space next to Ann. The rest follows suit, holding their breath.

"Akechi has a beige coat with a red and green scarf. Akira is in his usual evening attire. God, won't he be cold?" She then puts her phone away, her bug useless as soon as the pair walks out of the apartment.

Ann nods to show that she listened. The tips of her fingers are starting to become numb from coldness where she presses them into the small dips of the wall - she should have spared five extra seconds to get her gloves.

The apprehension in the air only gets thicker with each second that passes. Yusuke is the first to break from his position, carefully adapting his earlier position again before reeling back almost immediately.

"Unless we try to take Akira from him, I suggest we move back," Yusuke hastily murmurs. "They're going into our direction."

"Too risky," Morgana hisses from Haru's bag. "This residential area is still awake, and someone could witness what we're doing."

Morgana's urgent voice ushers them further into the small alley, and before Ann knows it, she's pressed against Yusuke, whom she immediately holds on to. Ann can't see his face with how dark it is, but there's a slightly awkward hand coming to rest on her shoulder. The attempt at trying to comfort her despite his own apprehension makes some anxiety inside of Ann untangle.

In their new positions, they don't dare to breath, waiting to catch a glimpse of two figures walking by. They can already hear faint steps, and Ann thinks her heart stops for a second when she sees _them_ walking by, fixed gaze in front of them, both focused in a conversation too hushed for anyone to make out proper words.

The moment lasts only for a few heartbeats before the walls prevent Ann from continuing to follow them with her eyes. But seeing Akechi with Akira already made her feel more out of breath than after she ran to the train station to meet up with everyone.

"Let's go," Morgana breaks the palpable tension after another minute of nothingness passes, and Ann is the first to move out of their hiding spots with Haru closely following. It's a fickle situation, keeping just enough distance to prevent being caught while not losing their line of sight on them, but it's a measure they need to take if they want to remain undetected.

Unlike they anticipated, Akechi doesn't lead Akira to the train station and instead enters the busy streets of the Kichijoji nightlife.

It's like whiplash to her face – one moment, the Phantom Thieves are threading through poorly lighted residential areas, and the next, they're getting swallowed by the sheer mass of people roaming the main streets.

It's more than crowded - it's that time of the year where everyone who procrastinated on getting Christmas presents finally decided to start searching for one with relentless fever. The air is practically vibrating with all sorts of energies, and the people bloom and unravel under the night sky in manners different from when the sun is out.

Ann would have enjoyed the busy atmosphere another day – she likes shopping, loves to go with the crowd, and lose herself in the masses. Because it's almost Christmas, countless decorations are blinking at every possible corner and veneer, pulling multiple gazes in and adding into the overall joy dancing on light conversations all around her.

The sweet smell of cinnamon, hot chocolate, and baked goods in the air would stir her stomach to prompt and indulge herself another day – if it weren't for their current mission to not lose a murderer and kidnapper in the hustling crowd.

And it's damn difficult not to - the people regularly swallow the pair they're tailing and spits them out in an entirely different location just a minute later.

The only advantage the Phantom Thieves have are their numbers – Makoto tells them to split up by the fifth time they lose visual contact with them, and that works a bit better to find their elusive targets again – they use the chat to keep positions and sightings up to date. Ann thinks this works just a little better if only to keep track of where Akechi appears with Akira after losing contact again.

Once they've somewhat grown accustomed to their situation and it doesn't feel like trying to catch a fish with her bare hands anymore, Ann has time to actually _see_ what they're doing.

And she doesn't really know what she expected after diving into a Christmas crowd instead of going to the train stations, but it certainly wasn't... the image she's currently getting. Them moving from store to store, spending most of their time waiting in line for all sorts of food.

But no matter how much Ann tries _not_ to think of it like that - she's done what they're doing often enough, with Shiho, the Phantom Thieves, with only Akira-

Akechi and Akira are _shopping._

And sometimes, when the crowd forces them to, they're huddled so closely together and striking a particular picture that Ann would go as far as calling it a _date._

It sounds ridiculous in her own head considering what had transpired the first time they entered a theater, and Ann really tries to come up with another way how to explain what she's currently seeing – to no success, given how even an objective approach fails her.

Ann could never get a good peek at Akira's face, no matter what angle she found. Most likely due to the fact that his hair and bangs are longer than before, covering what the surprising lack of fake glasses usually hid.

However, she thinks she doesn't need to, not when the Akechi always hovering near him is worlds apart from the Akechi Ann sees on television or in her memories.

The lines of his face seem lax, not twisting into a mirthful smirk or a smile so bright it could blind her. The way he tilts his head at Akira once in a while to inquire what Ann imagines to be in a firm but gentle voice threatens to shatter parts of the type of person Ann always imagines Akechi to be.

It's easy to associate the ruthless, vicious persona she could blame for everything with Akechi - but seeing a scowl that quickly morphs into a _smile_ when Akira steals a... bite from the crepe they just bought? on the same person that happily spills the blood of innocent people?

She blinks, and then it seems like fate smiles upon Ann.

The street is suddenly _empty_ at parts in front of her _._ For a brief amount of time, there are only a few people obstructing her view of the pair in front of the sweet shop. Ann _seizes_ the opportunity out of a suddenly surfacing instinct and throws aside any lingering doubts that formed over the past half hour and marches towards them.

Doesn't know what to say or do once she confronts them but knows she has to _act._

If the others are too afraid to confront whatever this is, _she_ will do it.

Anything is better than idly standing around and just watching this unfold into whatever direction it's spreading its bleeding wings towards.

Ann is halfway there when Akechi seems to notice her. Time stops for a fleeting, brief moment, freezing everything outside her line of vision.

Angled towards Akira, Akechi's expression has become stern, looking shockingly unapproachable and anything other than welcoming, but the lines of his face aren't _hard_. Directed at any other person, the second scowl Akechi quickly tried to cover up his smile with would be harsh and condescending, but the way he looks at her leader is just different.

Ann thinks she sees something akin to fondness simmering beneath a pool of smoldering, ruby heat.

No... not exactly fondness.

Partially tamed passion, maybe.

The observation has her faltering, and in the next second, those dark eyes lock with hers.

In an instant, his face is wiped clean of distinguishable emotion and becomes carefully lax. Any resemblance of softness vanishes from his eyes, leaving a blank canvas for her to try and interpret.

Ever so slowly, a corner of Akechi's mouth lifts into a smirk, and it's small, barely there, but it feels like a slap to her face.

_Victorious._

It transforms his whole face into something beyond her grasp, and Ann thinks she's never felt so open. So weak in her convictions before as Akechi stares her down, taking her apart with only his gaze in the middle of a street in Kichijoji as if they were the only two people in existence.

As if he knows the secret of the world, and she desperately searches for them.

Ann is not moving fast enough, each step creating more distance rather than closing it, but there's a spark of hope when Akira's head moves, slowly turning around to follow Akechi's gaze. He'd see Ann, snap out of his stupor and immediately reach out for her, realize what he's doing, that _Akechi_ is-

-stepping even _closer_ to Akira, sneaking a free arm around a waist and pulling Akira flush to his side, effectively diverting the other's attention. Akira visibly startles, nearly drops his crepe but finds purchase on the other's coat, further playing into Akechi's hands as he leans into the taller for balance, head back to its original position.

Turned away from Ann.

Akechi bends down, cruelest of smiles still plastered on his face, still maintaining eye contact while he whispers something into Akira's ears.

Like a door slamming shut, the world starts working again. Time resumes its flow, and the free path in front of her gets swarmed by what seems to be a whole tourist group, effectively cutting off her entire field of vision.

Both Akechi and Akira slip through her grasp.

Ann is so out of tact with her own body and mind that she barely feels herself colliding with a body once the tourist group is through. She's about to unleash a string of curses to channel all the frustration and fury she feels when she realizes that it's, in fact, a very familiar figure she bumped into.

Who is staring at her with the same, bewildered expression, she undoubtedly must be sporting herself.

"Ann?"

"...Ryuji!?"

Ryuji looks a bit battered, rough around the edges, with slight stubble on his chin. But aside from that, he looks completely fine, and his eyes suddenly light up like the sun just chased the moon away.

"Oh my god, Ann! You're here? Where is everyone else?"

Too much just happened at once. Ann was just forced to swallow a different kind of defeat when suddenly one of the very people they spent most of their time searching for just waltzed back into her life like everything is ok, standing there with his hands in his pockets like he never left, posture slouched and grin present like he really is Ryuji.

Something breaks and mends itself inside of her. Not being able to get a word past her closed-off throat, she reaches out to grab his shoulders with shaking hands.

This isn't a hallucination to make her feel _better,_ right?

But the strong shoulders she feels through the material of his jacket are firm and solid, and the perplex expression on Ryuji's face is so _him_ that it can't just be a trick of her mind.

"Eh, Ann?"

"It's really you," Ann breathlessly mumbles, and then she pulls a perplexed, fellow blond into a hug, letting tears spill into the crook of his neck. He smells of sweat and hair products and something heavy, but underneath all of that, the scent of grapefruit and lemon invades her nostrils and she can't help but cry just a bit harder at the familiarity after _all that time._

God, she found Ryuji, wonderful, bright Ryuji-

"I don't know what happened myself yet," Ryuji slowly says, sounds muffled as he buries his nose in her hair. Only now do his arms come to rest awkwardly around her shivering frame, but they pull her closer a second later with a sureness that makes Ann melt even more against him. "But- I'm just so damn happy to see you."

Futaba and Yusuke are the first to find the pair, not hesitating to join in on the hug. No one could care less about the stares they receive for initiating such an act in the middle of the street, undoubtedly blocking some paths.

"You had us all so worried!" Futaba screeches, but the effect of her shrill voice is lessened with how sobs wreck her small frame. Ann, already having detangled herself from the pile to make place for the others and joining Makoto on the sidelines who waits for Ryuji to become somewhat approachable again, looks at the image of Ryuji drowning in their affection.

Ann feels like they lost something but also gained something incredibly important today.

Even stoic Makoto, who usually pretends to have as much emotional aptitude as a stone in times like these, has a smile on her face when she sees Morgana trying his best not to be squeezed to death with how tight Haru's bag is pressing into Ryuji's side.

As if sensing her gaze, Makoto turns towards her. "Chances are high we won't be able to find them again," she reveals, the happy expression descending into a neutral one. "I've tried checking the vicinity, but it's like the ground swallowed them up. They could be in one of the stores, but going inside is akin to screaming our positions."

The train ride back home is silent and still holds resemblances of bitterness in it. Still, Ryuji's presence is so incredibly bright that everybody is sporting a content expression on their faces - once everyone rested, they're going to thoroughly interrogate him.

For now, though, this is ok.

* * *

  
  


Akechi really, really hates crowds.

Distains them, in fact, the general accumulation of ignorance and arrogance pestering the air in such high concentrations that breathing fresh air feels like a luxury. Nevertheless, he finds that, like most of the things he struggles with, everything becomes manageable if he solely focuses on Akira.

There's only the smallest tension in Akira's shoulders, which is hidden underneath his worn jacket, but the rest of his body is deliciously soft, and Akechi knows it's only a matter of time until the rest of his apprehension dissipates.

He's not as loose as he would have been if they'd gone out like this prior to Sae's casino, but Akechi can't exactly fault him if Akira is tense due to the number of people bustling around them, not because of Akechi himself.

Akira being overwhelmed by so many people after having been in only his presence for the last months wasn't actually a fact Akechi had taken into consideration. It's a scenario he watches unfold with apt interest regardless. All too happy to steady Akira with the smallest of touches whenever the other becomes a bit too overwhelmed by everything and seeks something more familiar to ground himself.

Akira follows him easily whenever Akechi guides them in a direction and doesn't need to be told twice to keep him close. Gray eyes aren't darting around to look for an escape, but rather to find something that would be worthy of their attention (meaning practically everything that meets the standards of eliciting a reaction out of Akira).

No matter how much Akechi is tempted to simply tunnel vision on Akira, Akechi knows not to lose focus of his surroundings.

The moment people recognize him even with his scarf obscuring some parts of his face, Akechi simply needs to turn around, slip between a few, presenting gaps with a tug on Akira's wrist, and they're free of longing stares once more.

Christmas rush also plays into Akechi's favor. Most people tend to ignore him as they try to find a suitable gift for their beloved ones.

The method works just as well on the Phantom Thieves littered throughout the streets of Kichijoji.

Akechi feels the burn of Nijima's eyes on his back, and he has to suppress a laugh - her tailing method is still as horrendous as ever despite Okumura trying her best to damage control.

Seems like she's responding well to his messages.

Regardless, on a more subconscious level, even Akira is vaguely aware that there are eyes desperately searching for him – his head occasionally jerks into a direction, trying to make out something in the indistinguishable masses of people. Akechi lets him have his few, precious moments of trying to _remember_ what's at the very edge of his mind before he claims Akira's attention for himself once more.

Reaching out to tug at Akira's arm, Akechi is greeted with cheeks stuffed to the brim.

He should have really not given him his money back. The idiot has been spending it on food only the minute they got here, even managing to rope Akechi into it.

One would think he lets Akira _starve_ in his palace.

The exasperated sigh he gives holds no actual bite. "I'm looking away for a single second, only to find that you had more food than mice do in winter."

Akira has visible difficulties chewing, and Akechi amusedly watches him trying to swallow for an entire minute.

"What can I say?" Akira says after clearing his throat, flashing a small, triumphant smile. "I love sweets, and you don't bring nearly as much of them back as my stomach craves."

Akechi absolutely loves how Akira lets himself be immersed in the simplicity of this evening, relinquishing control over his thoughts and just enjoying what Kichijoji has to offer. It's like they're on a simple ~~food~~ shopping spree without any existing peril or responsibility weighing their shoulders down – Akechi doesn't think he's ever been this relaxed in the real world, doing something he usually loathes doing.

He flicks Akira's forehead, not feeling sorry for the indignant _ow!_ that follows. "I shall keep it in mind, then."

They've already eaten at his apartment, both suddenly finding themselves too hungry to wait until they got to the promenade (and seeing as they had no ingredients, Akechi could finally flaunt his impressive cooking skills that consist of pouring hot water into cup noodles). Still, it seems like Akira's stomach can be bottomless at times with how he stops at practically each and every food corner.

There is no way Akira can eat so much food without gaining weight, so Akechi concludes that he either loses it quite quickly or has a metabolism most people would be envious of.

Since Akechi has been gifted with something similar, he lets himself be convinced more than would be considered healthy to try the food Akira keeps shoving into his face.

Well, it's always been hard resisting him.

Akira seems especially fond of the chinese buns a small, secluded shop in a narrow alley sells. Akechi didn't even acknowledge the entirety of its existence before, always skipped past it whenever he walked by the main street.

He buys them a few dumplings anyway upon noticing Akira's longing gaze, and Akira only accepts them because he'd been the one to pay for most of the food before.

Akira practically inhales the peppery nikuman, dumplings filled with spicy meat (and something which Akechi does _not_ try, no matter how persistent and large Akira's eyes get because he remembers the last time he tried eating spicy food at the festival of Shujin academy), and offers Akechi the sweeter, refreshing rice dumplings that stick to Akechi's fingers when he tries to take one.

Akechi never paid particular attention to food, but since Akira has taken it upon himself to cook for them, Akechi finds himself to be more and more appreciative of the consumption of nutrients and the flavor that coats his tongue if he concentrates on it.

This day is no exception.

It may have a lot to do with the adamant expression Akira sports whenever he forces food down Akechi's throat after Akechi told him that "No, I have not tried those fried mushrooms since moving here."

Akechi has beenliving in Kichijoji for several years now. Has explored the various corners of the city enough to vaguely know where what is (the jazz club being, of course, the most important location and somewhere he'll take Akira to one day). Yet he feels like it's an entirely new experience with Akira by his side.

They walk by a karaoke bar as well, and Akechi promises Akira to go there the next time they go to Kichijoji again. _Next time_. He can't wait to see Akira's expression when Akechi would reveal that, in fact, he's a pretty good singer. He also has a feeling Akira won't disappoint him in that regard, too.

Akira by his side in reality makes Akechi feel fuzzy and warm in a way that has nothing to do with the layers of clothing he sports. It makes him feel at peace when _Akira_ drags _him_ to Meal Port, a popular café, and he has a hard time keeping his face composed at seeing his rival's eager face.

"It says they sell delicious coffee," Akira states as if that is enough to justify why he nearly dislocated Akechi's wrist upon noticing the sign.

Akechi can read several questions beneath that regardless, and huffs. "A waste of time. I've already tried it, but it's not nearly as good as yours."

The corners of Akechi's mouth are already _aching_ with how hard he fights to prevent the small smile on his lips from growing bigger, but the somewhat cheesy line is definitely worth it when Akira ducks his head, growing red as he tries to brush off the compliment.

He'll learn to accept them, someday.

Akechi twists them around Kitagawa and Takamaki twice more before finding themselves at Miel et Crepe, another café mostly focused on sweet, baked goods. Their orders come fast, and in no time, they're out, standing in front of the cozy building with two fresh crepes in their hand.

Akechi is in the middle of plotting his revenge for having parts of his own crepe stolen when he notices a certain blonde marching towards them, her expression half determined, half in disbelief.

Akechi initially assumed they'd lay low for now, maintaining distance to only observe them – but seems like Takamaki has other ideas.

The way she walks tells him she has not thought the least about what she is doing but possesses the determination to pull through anyway. Akechi suppresses a pitying chuckle at that.

It's easy, so, so easy to divert Akira's attention to himself, to make him focus only on him with a few careful but bold touches. With Akira melting against his side directly and the crowd swallowing Takamaki once more, Akechi feels numbing power flooding him, different from when he lets Loki take over, yet no less addicting with how fast the blood rushes through all corners of his body.

It borders on sweet agony; how _no one_ around them is aware of the power he and Akira have in their grasp.

Deciding he played enough with the pesky stalkers and remembering his original intent for bringing Akira out, Akechi swiftly uses the opportunity to guide them to the fashion store he bought his own coat in just recently, knowing the Phantom Thieves would sooner or later have their hands full.

(He could have miscalculated, of course, and it would be a bit of a setback – but it'd _still_ work, even with a delay of time.)

Akira is deliciously embarrassed at his side for the stunt he pulled earlier, but it was nothing but worth it, if only for Takamaki's face.

The store Akechi has in mind is only a street away from the crepe café, so soon enough, they arrive, entering the set of automatic doors.

It's expensive, aimed for the upper class of society with the modern vibe it gives out, all monochrome interior and sleek fashion. Akechi has more income than the average part-time student - while it's still not much to impress a working adult, he barely has the opportunity to use it, enabling him to afford to spend more sums when he finally does so.

It helps that Shido pays the costs for his apartment, too - the only thing he accomplished in life.

Akira doesn't know that, of course, and pales at the price tags when they skim through the first articles. The thief spends only a minute browsing through the collection before he marches back to him, looking unsure and every bit like a lost kitten.

"The clothes here are way out of my league," he mutters, fumbling with the hem of his jacket, clearly more self-conscious than before with his simple, admittedly rough getup. "I think I saw a second-hand store earlier though, so we might try that."

Akechi suppresses the fury cutting through the pleasantly warm world he's been basking in since he took Akira out.

The implication has Akechi's insides vibrating, but he wills himself to calm down. How _dare_ Akira think he's not worthy of the clothes on display here. Going so far as implying he's _beneath_ them.

"I won't commend to that. I will not allow you to wear clothes owned by somebody else before," Akechi sharply says, crossing his arms since he _somehow_ needs to express his disapproval aside from the narrowing of his eyes.

Akira blinks. "Oh. And yours are ok?"

Akechi gives him a look. "I bought them for you, and even if some are still mine - I'm hardly _somebody_."

Before Akechi can see the fruits of his efforts coloring Akira's cheeks more, Akira swiftly turns around. Stubbornness Akechi knows all too well is written all over his face, even if he doesn't see it.

"Well, it doesn't change the fact that I don't have enough money. I spent all I had on the food earlier, anyway."

"Idiot," Akechi says, walking up beside him. He motions for the approaching employee wanting to help them to scatter.

"You're willing to spend so much money on _other_ activities. Gear, medicine, expensive gifts until you barely have anything left for yourself. Don't tell me _you_ have to pay when _they_ invite you out, too?"

The way Akira's head jerks just a bit confirms Akechi's suspicion, and he consciously levels his breathing to not reach out and shake the other to make him understand.

Were it the Metaverse, Akechi would have most likely already flattened the entire area around them because of the frustration he feels bubbling.

"Well, sometimes," Akira mumbles. "But not always."

 _That equals to approximately 99% of the time,_ Akechi's brain translates for him.

Kitagawa he might understand, but the rest? "I was the one to invite you here for a coat. It's only natural that I pay for that. Anything else would be utterly ridiculous."

Akira falters and proceeds to look at him like Akechi just grew a second head. "This- this isn't like food, Akechi. These are clothes, and expensive ones at that. 15,000 yen for a _scarf_. " He grimaces. "Don't get me started on other articles."

Akechi is starting to feel genuinely offended. Does Akira really think he is _unwilling_ to cover such costs for him?

"So what," Akechi gruffly says, growing increasingly impatient. "I don't see the issue here."

Can't Akira just _take_ for once, not questioning his own worth and existence every few seconds somebody offers to lend _him_ a hand?

"I'll just add a scarf on top of a coat just to prove my point, then."

"Akechi-"

_"Akira."_

As much as he likes the sound of his name on Akira's tongue, he really doesn't want to hear it when it's associated with irrelevant complaints.

They spent another minute arguing back and forth, probably worrying the cashier nearby with how much she's sweat-dropping. Then the tension in Akira's shoulders breaks for the first time this evening, and he nods in defeat, begrudgingly accepting Akechi's proposal the moment he realizes Akechi won't settle for anything less than a positive response.

There's a pout when Akechi shoves him back to the coat section, and it serves to uncoil some of the built-up pressure Akechi felt while trying to make Akira realize that _yes, you're more than worth spending money on._

After trying on different coats, they settle on a grey one, just as long as Akechi's own. It suits Akira perfectly - he always wears colors of the darker palette the best. The model is slightly reminiscent of his leather trenchcoat in the Metaverse with only one slit instead of two at the back, but it falls in elegant lines around Akira regardless.

The v-neck Akira wears doesn't flatter the coat too much, but he still manages to make it work somehow, and Akechi can already imagine how he'd look like if he wore something like a black turtleneck instead.

The price tag has Akira nearly bolting out of the store for entirely different reasons again. Akechi catches him by the wrist, sends the confused employees a polite, charming smile as he drags Akira back.

They definitely know him, too, judging by their flustered expression and the fact that Akechi and Akira haven't gotten kicked out of the store with how loud their argument had gotten earlier.

Like Akechi promised (and to Akira's dismay), they also pick out a soft scarf for him.

A deep, velvet blue that reminds Akechi of his theater. And no matter how much Akira tries not to visibly snuggle into the new clothes now adorning his body when they leave the store, it's painfully evident that he has already taken a liking to them.

Outside, Akechi takes a quick look at his phone. Still a bit of time left until they should go back, especially since he should get at least some rest if he doesn't want to sleep during day two of the finals currently ongoing.

Akechi turns when he feels a tug on his sleeve.

His heart skips a beat upon seeing Akira looking at him with a mixture of anger and gratitude. The coat and scarf suit him.

"Why?"

Akechi knows perfectly well what he means, that there's so much more in the question. He repeats the word anyway. "Why...?"

"Why... did you buy me this?"

"Because you deserve it." Akechi pauses, looks up to search for the stars hidden by light pollution. "But also because I want to. And before you can ask - no, I'm not expecting anything in return. This is a reward. A simple gift from me to you. There is nothing transactional about that."

Akechi almost misses the surprised look in gray eyes with how deep Akira's bangs fall into his face. He resists the urge to push them away but feels himself soften regardless when Akira still looks like he doesn't want to believe the very words Akechi just said.

So Akechi smirks lightly, venturing into territory both have grown increasingly familiar with. "Then again, I might have to retract my words. In hindsight, your company has been more than adequate to compensate for my services."

"You're insufferable," Akira murmurs, sighing. He averts his face to the side, probably to hide a blush Akechi wouldn't have minded seeing.

"I will still find a way to pay you back," Akira warns, and Akechi suppresses a laugh – even though Akechi thinks his words have gotten through him, there will always be parts of Akira that will stay the same, no matter how much Akechi tries to twist them into his direction. 

He wouldn't have it any other way.

Akira shyly meets Akechi's eyes again. There's a soft look in his face, too, serving to make his heart skip a bit.

"But for now... thank you."

And Akira articulates the words in a way that Akechi knows none of his _friends_ ever gifted him something as grand as this before.

Akechi wordlessly wraps an arm around Akira's waist, loose and not nearly as tight as when he did so while feeling Takamaki's gaze on them, but Akira doesn't pull away and _leans in,_ gives him a small, shaky smile that is guiltily buried into his new scarf as soon as Akira realizes what his mouth is doing without his consent.

What fools his friends are for not treating Akira like the greatest treasure he is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _regarding the context: this was my favorite chapter precisely because I got them to dress in their stylish third semester outfits earlier. HAH. That's it. Otherwise it's the calm before the storm._
> 
> _Also, can you believe Kichijoji (ingame) has a hat store and a suit center, but NO regular clothing store? That isn't second hand? I had to use my author powers in chapter 8 to build this._
> 
> As you might have noticed, I finally have a set number of chapters! Take or give a few, depending how much I'll last-minute-edit, but about 26 is the rough destination. Can't believe I fit about... two months? Into like 14 chapters and then stretch out the time before Christmas and New Year into almost the same amount XD But a lot of shit will still happen. I might lose ya all during that or gain even more of your devotion, who knows... :3c
> 
> Depending on how fast I'll get it done, I might squeeze out another chapter before Thursday, partially because it isn't too large :) My beta-reader is also working on my Senpai/Kouhai Akeshu fic, so please look forward to that. Blame it on my mentality to get as much content done before University starts for me and reminding me how little I've studied.
> 
> And... welcome back Ryuji? :D
> 
> [My (mostly) Akeshu twitter!](https://twitter.com/voraciousTash)


	16. strangers with memories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the love and support! This chapter isn't very exciting, but it will throw the slightest bit more light on the Ryuji situation and what the PT have been doing prior stalking Akeshu on a lovely date. Also a small summary on what the PT know until now.
> 
> In return, I promise the next chapter will be... important. We're starting to pick up more pace after this, so bear with me <3!
> 
> **Please check out[this amazing art](https://twitter.com/s0mmer_annie/status/1323998906615648256) by [@s0mmer_annie](https://twitter.com/s0mmer_annie) for the 'hug' scene in chapter 11 after Akechi came back from Shido's job! It's wonderful art that captures the moment so well ;w;**
> 
> Beta-read by [BrownieQueen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrownieQueen/pseuds/BrownieQueen)<3

###  December 21st, Wednesday

Right after they've all written their respective exams (they're in the middle of finals, after all, even if it's admittedly not their top priority), the Phantom Thieves' members meet up at their usual hideout.

Sojiro already knows from Futaba what happened, but there's nothing compared to actually witnessing it with your own eyes. He's bewildered when the grinning form of Ryuji enters, and then immediately pats his shoulders a few times too many with a look in his eyes that could only be described as fond.

Sojiro flips Leblanc's sign from open to _closed_ without hesitation as soon as he ushered everyone inside.

"Let me dish up something good to celebrate Ryuji's return," he says, a small smile tugging at his lips. "You go relax and discuss your plans to get my other boy back."

Now they're scattered across Leblanc with one additional person back in their round once more, and all are eager to hear Ryuji's full explanation other than the few comments he gave during the train ride and per text.

With all eyes on him, Ryuji doesn't hesitate to summarize what happened to him until now. Which is barely a few sentences, much to everyone's surprise.

All eyebrow's raise.

"What do you mean you can't remember?" Futaba asks with wide eyes.

"I'm not kidding," Ryuji murmurs, rubbing the back of his neck. He looks a bit uncomfortable with the attention on him, but not any less happy. "It's... everything is just fuzzy, you know? I guess you can compare it too... uh, like when you go to sleep. And then randomly wake up."

"Please elaborate," Yusuke asks, intrigued.

"Well. You go to sleep, and then you just kinda lose awareness at some point, right? But you have no idea _when._ And then you suddenly wake up from one second to the next, and you have no idea how much time passed. It feels like five minutes and eight hours at the same time. It's just super weird. Don't tell me I'm the only one who thinks like that!"

"No, I think I understand what you mean." Crossing her arms, Makoto leans against the counter. "That doesn't mean that it helps us with your situation, though. People just don't forget more than one month's worth of memory."

Haru nods. "Akechi did something to you. We just don't know what it is, and apparently, neither does Ryuji-kun."

"I mean, I remember all the stuff from _before,_ " Ryuji says, drawing his eyebrows together. "It's just... the period afterwards that's blurry. My brain just goes all fuzzy. Next thing that happens, I'm in some dark alley in Kichijoji with all the Christmas decorations sparkling and then I bump into you guys."

"Do you have any recollection of Akechi himself interacting with you? He was the person who commanded his persona to keep you in his palace alongside Akira, after all."

"Well… I do think I remember _something,_ but it was so murky and dark that it barely counts. Other than that, my hate for him might have grown a bit- but I don't think that's surprising, eh?"

"Doesn't the Metaverse app have a search history?" Yusuke suddenly speaks up. Futaba's grin splits her face in two. "Great thinking!" She makes a grabbing motion at Ryuji, who doesn't hesitate to give her his phone.

She scrolls through the nav for a while. To everyone's disappointment, she just ends up shaking her head. "It says he's been in a palace after Akechi's, but that's all there is. No name, no other keywords."

"Well, at least that confirms that Akechi took him _somewhere,_ " Makoto mutters. "But if Ryuji really can't remember anything, then we're basically grasping for straws. This doesn't make any sense."

She rubs at her temples, eyes squeezed shut in a manner that suggests a headache.

"Going to the palace of a famous politician he's working under, forcing Akira to accompany him. Not changing his heart on election day or inducing a mental shutdown. Walking through the streets like they're on a date. Ryuji suddenly appearing after being gone for more than a _month_. Not even his roots are showing! What did he do to him? What is Akechi's ulterior motive?"

"A demonstration of power, perhaps?" Haru speaks, looking a bit sheepish. "Ryuji-kun doesn't seem any different. He appears to be physically and mentally well. I do think we have to bring him into the Metaverse to look how things are going on that side, but maybe Akechi just wanted to make it harder for us to progress while showing that he has the upper hand."

"That sounds _so_ like him," Futaba angrily hisses. "Showing off and everything. Just because he can."

"Guys," Ryuji tries, but Makoto cuts him off.

"But then why Ryuji? Why only one, and not more of us?"

"Hold on a second!" Everyone turns to look at Ryuji, who meets them with a perplexed expression on his face. "Is everybody going to ignore the fact that Makoto mentioned a _date_? Can we, like, talk about that for a sec before we get to the weird circumstances of my case again?"

The Phantom Thieves look at each-other, clearly uncomfortable. Futaba sniffs. Yusuke clears his throat. Haru smiles. Morgana decides now is the best time to clean the fur on his stomach, and Makoto looks to Ann for help.  
  


"It- just looked like one," Ann weakly explains. "We already told you that we were tailing him until you came, right? Initially, we thought he would bring Akira into a palace – maybe to where you have been as well. But turns out that he just stayed in Kichijoji."

Ryuji makes a face. "Yeah, I've gotten the gist of _that._ But nobody mentioned a date to me. Wait, did I mishear?"

"You didn't," Makoto sighs. "Like Ann said, it just... looked like they were going shopping together until we bumped into you. I know it's a rather ridiculous picture to think about, but we suspect that Akechi most likely blackmailed him into doing so."

"But why would he blackmail our leader into... _shopping_?" Nobody answers, clearly not able to come up with a logical explanation themselves. For all they know, Akechi's fascination with their leader was unhealthy – not romantic or gentle or anything that would prompt him to act like a doting boyfriend.

"God, you know what? I don't care. Akira would never go shopping with that dude on his own, so Akechi _definitely_ did something. I'm so ready to beat his high and mighty detective ass once we confront him!"

"Hold up! We're not done with _you_ yet, Ryuji!" Morgana exclaims, jumping on all fours.

The fired-up look in Ryuji's eyes instantly dies. "For real? I don't know about you guys, but it looks like we're only going to run in circles when it comes to me. What matters is that I'm healthy and in good condition, right?" He points at himself, grinning brightly again.

The Phantom Thieves admit that he really does seem to be in peak condition – probably also has to do with the fact that his exams got postponed due to his missing case. Ryuji had been more than ecstatic to learn that, shining like the sun for the next hours. 

However, they can't deny that it seems odd Akechi didn't do _anything_ to him. If that were the case, the detective would have given up a great opportunity to gain leverage over the Phantom Thieves. A trait they've learned to associate with him without fail. 

"I'd exclude any sorts of brainwashing as well since he's been acting like himself," Yusuke murmurs, framing the blond with his fingers. "Unless there's a trigger, of course."

After that, they try some words similar in a fashion to guessing palace keywords – throwing in mostly Akechi or Akira related nouns, but Ryuji just shakes his head at each one. "It's very unlikely that any ailments or changes prevail in reality," Morgana says. "Unless it's a complete change in cognition, of course, but that doesn't seem to be the case."

When it becomes apparent that this will get them nowhere, it quiets down again, only the aroma of spice and rice managing to uplift the brittle atmosphere.

Ryuji is the one to break it, gesturing towards them. "Uhm, anyway. You haven't filled me in on Akira yet. Or what overall happened since my… absence. Ann told me a lil' bit, but nearly not enough for me to make sense."

Ryuji stretches, accidentally smacking Yusuke in the face, who only waves his apology off while holding his nose.

Morgana gives a suspiciously cat-like sound to get their attention. He doesn't look happy to change the topic from Ryuji back to Akechi, but he also knows that Ryuji _is_ right – they aren't getting anywhere with what they have now, at least when it comes to _his_ case.

Making a mental note to chew Ryuji out another time, Morgana begins to explain.

"Our general issue is still the same. Akechi keeps Akira inside of his theater. I'll get to that in a second, but there's another big connection we've uncovered – Akechi is associated with Masayoshi Shido, the politician that just won prime minister. Who also happens to be the owner of a palace, too."

"Wait, _that_ guy? He has a palace? And I missed the prime minister election on top of that?"

"It's not like you would have voted or cared in the first place," Ann mutters under her breath.

"I heard that!"

"Anyway," Morgana says loudly, ears flickering in mild irritation at getting interrupted. "Yeah. Shido has a palace, a ship to be exact, and Akechi actually took Akira there for one time. The reason for that is probably not as important as we initially thought it was, but we've made a rather safe conclusion that Shido is the mastermind behind everything. Remember when Akechi reveled that he is the perpetrator behind the mental shutdowns, acting as the black mask? Shido is... the one pulling strings. A corrupt, sick politician who doesn't care about anyone else but him and his crew. And Akechi is just doing the dirty work for him because their ideals for a better world happen line up."

Futaba nods. "After we made the connection to Shido, I've checked a list related to accidents or mental shutdowns involving people in a political position. All, while seemingly individual cases, were somehow connected to an anti-Shido campaign." She scrunches her nose. "Well, not really an anti-Shido campaign, you know, but just overall people who would have hindered his guaranteed win in some way."

"And how does that relate to Akira?" Ryuji asks, confused.

Makoto shakes her head. "We thought that Akechi wasn't too willing in this entire scheme at first. Forced to do what he was doing, now trying to change Shido's heart to get revenge, maybe with our leader's help because he was the closest to him. But we threw that hypothesis out because nothing happened until now. Akechi missed his best shot with the live broadcast of Shido's successful election."

"Akechi was at Leblanc that day," Futaba adds. She shivers, wrapping her hands tighter around her knees. "Didn't bat an eyelash at the news. Just smiled and said he's going to _support_ Shido or something."

"What we want to say is that if Akechi wasn't, ahh, _completely_ at fault for everything and kidnapped Akira because he thought Akira would understand him the best in order to change Shido's heart, we wouldn't have been... as mad as we are now." Makoto's eyes glaze over. "We wouldn't have been able to ignore the...obvious, of course, but it could have also meant that we unintentionally drove Akechi into a corner so desperate that he did what he did."

Ryuji makes a disgusted sound. "Still. Akechi is the definition of a manipulative bastard. It's hard to even imagine that he's... well, just a puppet."

Nodding, Makoto brings a hand to her chin. "That's why we threw that theory out of the way the moment Shido survived his election. Akechi is... aware of his own palace and wields more control over his cognition than anybody else we've seen so far, meaning he must be perceptive enough to know what Shido uses him for. Therefore _allowing_ it to happen. Their views align, so any... sympathy we might have felt for Akechi, as naïve as it sounds, is completely gone now. It's clear that Akechi kidnapped Joker out of purely selfish reasons." She mutters something under her breath afterwards, but it wasn't so loud that they could hear it.

"Even _if_ he were manipulated," Ann throws in. _"_ No matter the initial circumstances – it doesn't change the fact that Akechi _lives the_ bloody path he's walking on right now."

Futaba nods. She's drawing little circles on the table with her fingers, absentmindedly following the invisible traces she leaves.

"My mom died pretty early, and if all of our conclusions and Sojiro's are right... he was definitely the one to kill her due to her research, keeping the results for Shido's side. The Akechi back then might have hesitated or felt a bit guilty, but with the way he's acting now, completely unbothered – there's no doubt he's grown used to killing. Maybe even so far as to _like_ it. And that knowledge alone makes everything just so much worse to the point where I _can't_ forgive him, no matter what. His alliance with Shido adds into that."

Her eyes flicker to Haru, who keeps her eyes averted. "And let's not forget Haru's father. That was very recent, and with how Akechi acted towards us, so disgustingly friendly when he knew he pulled the trigger, playing the innocent when he's actually a murderer- he's a disgusting person."

_"Shit,"_ Ryuji curses. His expression is crestfallen, fingers tightly clenched with empathy. "I didn't know. I mean, I did, not all, but to hear it like that- I'm sorry, Futaba-chan, Haru-chan." His eyes gain an angry shade to them. "Man, seriously, fuck that guy! I don't care if Shido forced him to do it or not – all that matters is that Akechi decided to side with him and killed all those victims. There's no excuse for the results of his work." A frustrated sound goes through Leblanc. "God! This just makes me want to beat him even more into a pulp."

"Exactly!" Morgana exclaims. "That's why we need Akira to get out of Akechi's influence as fast as possible. Throughout your disappearance, we've trained in Mementos when it's impossible for us to enter Akechi's palace with him being present and infiltrated it when he's outside. Sae has a mild influence on his schedule, and the bug Futaba has in his apartment helps in further organizing things."

"Wait, hold on. Do you mean Sae with Makoto's sister?"

Nodding, Makoto allows a small but proud smile to fill her face.

"Yeah. By accident, she saw us leaving the Metaverse the first time we popped out without you. It took a lot of convincing, and she was hesitant at first, but Sis is on our side now. She keeps an eye on Akechi when she can since he's her assistant at all. A bit of damage control with the little influence she has."

"Wow," Ryuji mumbles. "I really missed a lot. Then again, it _is_ almost Christmas after all. I needed like, yesterday and this entire morning to wrap my head around it."

"Wait, are you not gonna ask me about the bug?"

Ryuji takes a moment to look at Futaba, then shrugs. "Meh, I'm not surprised by that."

Puffing her cheeks, Futaba crosses her arms. "My talent is underappreciated."

"Your talent is simply beyond comprehension, Futaba. The real world offers a much steadier experience to draw inspiration from than the ever-changing, whimsical world of the internet and its technology."

Yusuke's comment just seems to make it worse, and Futaba makes a disapproving sound. "At least Akira finds my stuff cool."

"We all do Futaba, but can we please get back on track?" Upon hearing Makoto's slightly annoyed tone, Futaba promptly lifts her head and shrinks a bit. "Sorry," she mumbles.

Red eyes soften a bit. "Sorry myself. I didn't mean for it to come out that way. I'm simply on edge with this entire predicament, and while it's a relief to have Ryuji back – really, you don't know how happy I am to see you – it just adds another puzzle piece into the picture we're trying to put together."

"So you guys have barely gotten any further since my, uh, blackout, I guess?" Ryuji half asks, half says.

"Actually, we've made quite a bit of progress."

Ryuji's eyes widen. "For real? Did you already secure a treasure route or something? Did you find Joker? Wait, then you would have already told me. Forget that."

"It's complicated, for the lack of a better word," Haru responds. Before Ryuji can open his mouth, she shakes her head. "Wait. Hear us out first. Futaba-chan?"

"His theater consists of three levels." Futaba slides her phone over the table, and Ryuji bends over it to look at the graphic displayed. "The one we've first been on has halls for performances, toilets, lobbies, receptions, backstages, and whatever you need in a theater. The second floor consists of stuff like some guest rooms, dancing halls, meeting rooms, and lobbies. But this is also the part where it first got tricky."

She motions for someone else to continue.

"When we first entered the second floor, it was... changing. Walls broke off, various objects fell and shattered, only to be replaced by identical replicas." Yusuke stops for a second, getting a far-away look in his eyes. "But it all resulted in the same change of color: the most vibrant and beautiful shade of blue my eyes had the pleasure to lay their sight upon."

"First, we thought it to be some kind of infection, slowly taking over the palace. But it's clear that the theater itself is neither fighting nor actively supporting it."

"Sick," Ryuji mumbles, visibly trying to work his brain through all the input he just got. The rest of the Phantom Thieves let him progress the information for a minute until the blond speaks up again. "So to summarize, Akechi's theater has this weird, blue thing going on that changes its, uh, color, and some objects."

"Sounds about right."

"Damn. But what does it do, then? I mean, you guys didn't mention anything bad about it, and it doesn't seem to have hurt you, either."

"That's the thing – we didn't know at first, and therefore had to be careful about it," Morgana says. If he were human, he'd probably hold up one finger for emphasis. "A palace just doesn't _change_ , Ryuji. At least not on the level this one has changed. Since its Akechi's cognition, it's safe to assume that something is influencing it to the point where it actively alters the theater."

"The blue looks too mismatched to belong to _him._ A normal change of cognition wouldn't happen that fast or in such a distinctive way," Makoto adds. Morgana looks to her, satisfied with her conclusion.

"Exactly. Therefore we concluded that it's an external influence that changes Akechi's palace."

"And given the time frame, it started appearing,"

"-it's most likely to assume that it's Akira," Haru finishes.

Ryuji blinks. New terms and words fly back and forth so fast that he's having a hard time catching up with everything. "Wait. I lost you halfway through cognition and influence. You think _Akira_ is forcefully changing his cognition with that blue? Or, palace?"

"Maybe not forcefully since we haven't seen the theater initiate countermeasures of some sort, but it's the most logical assumption that _Akira_ is the source of the blue," Morgana explains.

"Man, this is, like, wild."

Yusuke laughs a hollow sound. "For the lack of a better word, yes. We have yet to figure out what exactly it _is,_ but it's probably his desire for..." he visibly struggles with the next word, throat and mouth working for a while. Yusuke clears his throat. "… freedom, perhaps."

A few heartbeats of silence pass.

Ryuji looks positively dazzled. Not that anyone could blame him - he missed a whole month, after all, and has to progress all of the information acquired up until now in a relatively short time frame. "So, does Akechi know about the change of his palace?"

"There's no way he _doesn't,_ " Haru remarks.

"So he does?" Ryuji makes a face like he's bitten into something sour. "But according to you, Akechi didn't really do anything against it now... argh, why doesn't this make sense? With what Yusuke said, Akira is probably writing his palace over or something so that he can escape, right? I mean, I don't know if that kind of stuff is possible, but it's Joker, I guess. Hard to believe there's something he _can't_ do."

The Phantom Thieves member thinks back on the night before, of the food they've seen Akira and Akechi share. Especially Ann seems deep in thought, not noticing Morgana jumping back into her lap to snap her out of her stupor.

"If Akechi already did something against it, it wasn't apparent. His… lack of palpable reaction is one of the many things we've yet to figure out," Makoto confesses.

"Well," Ryuji slowly says. "I guess we will find the answers in Akechi's palace, right? Best we start with that."

"That's the thing." Futaba stops drawing mindless patterns on the table. She leans back, adjusts the headphones so that they wouldn't uncomfortably press against her, and sags into the booth to the point where she almost glides down. A tired groan escapes her. "We haven't talked about his stupid third floor yet."

"We were able to scout it out on Monday," Haru adds, then sighs. "And we found nothing."

Ryuji's eyes widen, and his eyebrows shoot up so high that they might as well touch his hairline. "Urgh, there's even more? And wait, what do you mean, _nothing_?"

"It's exactly what it sounds like. There were shadows, of course, but no trace of Akechi's cognitive personas. No sign of Akira, Akechi's treasure, or even his Shadow. We searched every little corner and nook, and we came up with nothing." With each syllable, Makoto get progressively worked up to the point where she's digging her fingernails painfully into the sturdy wood of the counter. Only the smell of curry slowly beginning to invade the café steals some of her tension again, and she sighs, rubbing the brdige of her nose.

"But how can that be?" Ryuji asks. "I mean, sure, Akechi is a persona user while having a palace; that's already weird enough considering Futaba awakened almost towards the end of her palace. But no treasure? Argh, then again, he _can_ switch personas like Akira. Maybe he's just a very special nutcase."

"Our theory is that we're missing something," Haru softly says. "We might not meet the requirements of his palace. We could search in every place, but if it's like some sort of pocket dimension in his cognition that only opens when we have what's needed to access it... Well, of course we won't be able to find it in a normal way."

"So you… eh, it's… argh, this is making my brain work way too hard. So it's something like Madarame's door and Sae's courtroom thing?"

"It's the only plausible reason we could come up with, but while those required a… confrontation in the real world, we think it might be something else."

Ryuji blinks at Haru, then instinctively swivels to Makoto when she gestures towards him. "Wait. Why are you pointing to me?"

"You."

"Me?"

"The requirement just might be you," she explains, lowering her hand again to rest it on her thigh. "I admit it's not impossible for us to have to confront him in reality as well to… _find_ whatever is missing from his palace, but we'd like to try going into it with you first before we risk going for the other option."

The look Ryuji gives her tells everyone he doesn't follow too much. Clearly, he had skipped over the messages they exchanged last night – not that they could blame him. Ryuji did seem like he would fall over any second when they parted for their respective lines that would take them home.

"When we got to the third floor after weeks of trying and didn't find anything, it was a crushing experience," Yusuke reveals. "It seemed like the sole clue we had turned out to be a dead end. But then you appeared, and we thought – what if we were just missing something?"

"Do you think Akechi let me… go intentionally? From wherever I got dragged to?" Ryuji rubs his head, groaning. "Man, I can't remember _anything._ Why does this have to be so hard?"

"The timing of us clearing his palace and Ryuji appearing is too convenient," Makoto murmurs. "It could be a lucky coincidence, but with Akechi's knack for planning ahead, I don't think it is, no matter how weird it seems."

"So, it's a trap?"

"Most likely is," Morgana admits. "But do we have another option? Actually, _because_ it's a trap, it might be just what we need. Akechi wouldn't set one because of no reason." When Ann scratches under Morgana's chin, he flicks his ears, but otherwise doesn't do anything to acknowledge it, clearly too caught up in his thoughts. "Besides, I'm afraid we are in a position where we don't have another choice than to take risks."

"My head is still swimming. This is- damn, why is this so complicated?" Ryuji mutters, looking downwards. "But I think I've understood the gist of it."

There's a serious look in Ryuji's usually cheerful eyes when he looks up again, staring at no specific point. It makes everybody lean a bit forward, aware that he's not joking around for once – it's hard to believe Ryuji was gone for such a long time, the way he fits right back with them, just as eager to solve the mess that is Akechi's theater as well. It warms the atmosphere around them a little, gives away for a tension filled with determination instead of overwhelming negativity.

"If I can help _somehow_ after having been this useless, then I'll do it."

Morgana makes an encouraging sound, but that soon turns into gestures as if to paw at Ryuji's sleeves from his position. "Not so fast! We still have to see your condition in the Metaverse. And since we have trained a lot in your absence, I think it's safe to say that we're on an entirely different level now. We need to make sure we won't put you in unnecessary danger."

"But we also can't afford to wait any longer!" Ryuji slams one fist down on the table, quickly throwing Sojiro an apologetic look at the noise. "Akechi is _messed up_ , and I don't want to imagine what he could be doing to Akira every single second. Hurting him, beating him again..." He shakes his head. "The date you mentioned probably just _seemed_ harmless while the total opposite was going on. I'm sure of it."

"But Ryuji-" Ann tries to protest. He cuts her off, rubbing his neck with a guilty expression and looking so sincere that Makoto can't help but go towards him, putting a hand on his shoulder.

"Please. I already feel shitty enough that I was out of commission. This is… something I could help with. If there's even the slightest chance I'm needed to open a path to Akechi's treasure or Akira's room, I don't want to wait much longer."

"I do agree to an extent." Yusuke stands up, flattening his jacket. "Ryuji, while you're well-being should not be discarded so lightly, I do believe direct advancement is the only solution to our problem. Inspiration doesn't just strike when you sit around and do nothing. You have to actively pursue, find worth in the things around you otherwise take for granted! For example, Akira has been a great stimulus to inspire my next pieces of art whenever I felt down, especially in the thrill of combat. Ah, what thoughts-inducing moments those were!"

Ryuji makes a face. "Dude, don't phrase it that weird."

"What is wrong with saying Akira provides perfect material for ones' imagination when it's nothing but the truth? Ah, how I miss him."

Yusuke's antics and the red on Ryuji's face loosens the mood a little. Futaba even lets out a giggle at the increasingly horrified expression Ryuji carries.

"You're making it even worse – just, stop talking, Yusuke, please."

The male in question furrows his eyebrows but complies nonetheless by sitting back down. "Very well. It is not my fault that your eyes are unable to witness Akira's perfect-"

"What both want to say is that we should not waste any more time, but also keep a special eye out for, Ryuji," Makoto interrupts them before the conversation could spin into an abyss they'd have a hard time climbing out off. "Sis says Akechi's final day of the exam takes place in the morning, just like ours. It's unclear whether he will go out or stay in afterwards, but I expect us all to be on standby when we get further information."

"We can still do a quick Metaverse check on Ryuji in Mementos," Futaba murmurs, momentarily distracted by Sojiro rounding the corner with plates full of delicious smelling curry. "I don't like that we bring an underleveled Ryuji with us, but maybe we can like, warm up in Mementos and do what we can for him? We can't afford to be pickier than we already are. Plus, we do have some Goho-Ms with us. That should make it a lot safer."

_"And_ we're stronger," Ann adds, nodding with a determined expression on her face. "A lot stronger."

"Well, I certainly didn't understand most of what you said, but that's the direction I like to hear," Sojiro grunts as he goes back behind his counter to get the last plates. "That determination in your voice. Keep it, girl. It's better than the gloomy atmosphere that pestered my café before."

"And you know what, guys?" Ryuji says, grinning from ear to ear once everybody has a steaming plate set in front of them, thanking Sojiro for the meal. "I think- I dunno, it's just a _feeling,_ but… I feel like I'll totally be able to keep up with ya all, heh."

Some can't help but smile doubtfully at his declaration, and they lose themselves in curry and lighter topics for the rest of the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _regarding the context: If I can recall it right, the royal trio in third semester were able to look into the Metaverse search history to see that they had an entry of entering royal's palace, but the name was blurred out due to an intervention in cognition. In conclusion, I think it's logical to say that while Ryuji was in the head-chiefs palace, **he didn't know** anything about the circumstances for it - leaving a general entry in his meta-nav, but every detail blank._
> 
> __
> 
> Not much to say for this chapter. May have seemed a bit bland even but I guess the next one will hit all the harder haha. I should stop saying stuff like that or you all think I'll write the next great masterpiece lol, it's not THAT good xD
> 
> __
> 
> As always, thank you for reading! We're getting closer to all the things I finally want to reveal...
> 
> __
> 
> [My (mostly) Akeshu twitter!](https://twitter.com/voraciousTash)
> 
> __


	17. destroy my reason

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm curious to see your reaction to this. Things will soon enough really get out of hand, so if you're not ready for a rollercoaster... well, thank you for reading up until now <3! I'm not kidding lol the direction in which this is going... yeah.
> 
> Huge thanks again to [BrownieQueen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrownieQueen/pseuds/BrownieQueen) for beta-reading! If you still find any mistakes, I apologize. They're on me due to the afterwards editing.

###  December 22nd, Thursday

He's -

Cute is an adjective Akechi generally avoids. It lacks finesse, creativity, and pales in comparison to other words that possess the potential to be infinitely more expressive.

But if he ever learned something in life, it's that Akira likes to shake Akechi's axes, and his eloquence most often than not suffers along with it.

So yes, Akira is-

-disgustingly cute, squatted in front of the oven and watching the cake like it would magically accelerate the baking progress if he just stares intensively enough. His eyes are so wide as well, face pressed against the somewhat-translucent surface to see his self-proclaimed child grow.

A child he'd eat.

Akechi would point that out later.

Akechi isn't exactly a fan of sweets. Pancakes are the sole exception to that (only if they're served in a specific way, too), and not even Akira would make him change his mind regarding that topic. So when the other randomly proposed baking something, Akechi, at first, refused.

"You'd be the only one to benefit from it," Akechi had pointed out. "Since I don't have a fondness for baked goods like you do, I'd get nothing out of this except watching you strut around in an apron for an hour or longer."

Akira stared at him. "Isn't that compensation enough?"

"No." But Akira's sly expression gave him an idea. Akechi leaned forward to smirk directly into the other's face. "I'd like to have more."

Akechi counted the slightest squirm he saw as his victory.

"Then how about we don't make it too sweet?" Akira tried.

"Please elaborate."

"Well. We could make something like a fruit-cake. Or a dark-chocolate cake."

"...Why is it that you continue insisting for it to be a cake specifically?"

Akira huffed, crossing his arms and averting his gaze. "Well. I like cake."

What a typical way of reasoning. Rubbing his head, Akechi sighed. "I guess I could be convinced for a bitter chocolate cake."

Before Akira could get that smug look in his eyes like he usually does when something goes his way, Akechi raised a finger.

"However, that is not enough. We need to get the ingredients too, after all, _and_ we're going to make use of my kitchen."

" _Your_ kitchen?"

Akechi rolled his eyes at Akira. "Yes, of course. Unless you prefer baking here in the Metaverse more than in my apartment?"

Akira's eyes narrowed. It's more mocking than serious. "Is there a catch?"

"I just want you to answer a question I have, that's all."

"What kind of question?"

A grin not unlike that of a predator. "Well, you only have one way of finding out, you know?"

Akira crossed his arms. "I could just decline and you could just ask anyway."

"Oh, but where is the fun in that?"

And that's why Akechi is in this current situation, seated on one of his high stools at the counter of his modest kitchen, chin in hand, watching how Akira guards his cake like a mother hawk.

Much to his delight, Akira still has a black turtle neck on, complete with a pair of dark, skinny jeans. He didn't change out of them after they've gotten back from the supermarket - an experience that had been as annoying as it was endearing, Akira demanding they'd practically buy everything that was on sale simply because it was, well, _on sale._ Akechi forgot to bring the apron from his theater outside, but Akira looked incredibly domestic even without one.

And good.

It's not often that Akechi steps back and appreciates Akira on a more superficial level – regardless, it's still something that undeniably plays into the other's appeal, just as Akechi is aware of what an effective weapon his own looks are.

Akira is all long legs and a slim waist that extends into moderately broad shoulders - he has what many people would undoubtedly call ideal body proportions. It makes him the kind of guy that doesn't need to follow the fashion trends to make whatever he wears look like one anyway.

It proves inconvenient at times. Like Tuesday evening, when they've gotten stares left and right as soon as people were able to look past the veil of Christmas and personal issues. On the other hand, the fact that a glimpse of them both is all they're ever going to get fills him with dark satisfaction. 

Often he wonders how others perceive them when it's just a fleeting image they get.

Is it a cruel twist to what serendipity usually entails?

There's still some dough on the material of Akira's top. It looks like a cluster of small snowflakes clinging to something warm despite themselves, and Akechi is vaguely aware that it hadn't snowed in quite a while. Maybe it'll all come at Christmas.

Akira brushes the white splayed across his side off as he straightens himself because he must have realized that the cake won't magically be done faster through the questionable methods he uses.

"So," Akira begins, leaning backward and facing Akechi from across the kitchen isle. "Your question?"

Akira's shoulders aren't as tense as they would have been some days, _weeks_ ago. Akechi knows they're _ready_ to if given the right reason, but nothing is dissenting about the way Akechi sits and observes, so they stay lax.

A smile tugs at Akechi's lips. Granted, he took precautions, hid all the sharp tools his kitchen possesses and other utensils that could be turned into a weapon if wielded smartly enough, just in case. Nonetheless, he feels accomplished more than ever – having Akira in reality, baking a _cake_ for _them_ in _his_ apartment, looking at ease and not for means of escape is a unique experience all in itself he would trade for very, very few things.

The growing trust he puts in Akechi is also an undeniably pleasant change, one that he'd like to keep and nurture. Akira seems to be increasingly happy around him, which only solidified when Akechi took him out to Kichijoji.

Getting Akira more accustomed to a larger number of people again is a mild inconvenience, one that, Akechi has to admit, he's a little guilty of enjoyin _g_ because even in the supermarket, Akira kept close to him, eyeing other people with the same wariness that had been reserved for shadows lurking in a casino.

Seeing Akira shying away from others to gravitate towards him instead – pure delight that warms Akechi's fingertips.

"What was your plan to deceive me?"

Akechi's lips curl into the small, challenging smirk he doesn't need to hide like with everyone else. "I'm rather curious. I suspect Sakura has bugged my phone that one time, didn't she? And judging by what content I used to discuss on that very phone, you must have known about my… other motives rather early."

Akira's eyes grow nearly unreadable in the dim lighting. Despite having purchased new light-bulbs at the beginning of December that work perfectly fine, Akechi has manually tinkered with the devices, never having liked harsh white to completely eliminate the darkness in his apartment.

Akira is still relaxed, but Akechi can tell he's apprehensive of the shift in the air. Akechi doesn't falter under his gaze, mirroring the intensity with unblinking red. When words fail, it always comes back to a starring contest, something both of them hate losing due to its simplicity.

Akira is the first to give in by sighing. Akechi doesn't like tearing the same wounds open he himself had wanted to close, but while it's a question he'd been genuinely wanting to ask for a while now, there's also the matter of testing how Akira would react to issues regarding his beloved group of Thieves after everything that transpired until now.

Akechi has theories about their plan himself, but he wants to hear it from Akira, knowing he must have been the key player in their counter-plan. Anything else would have resulted in a laughable attempt.

"...I suppose there's no harm in telling you now, huh?" Twirling a lock like he always does when he feels like he's venturing on more unsure lines, Akira begins to reveal what the Phantom Thieves initially planned a lot more openly than Akechi anticipated.

"You're correct. Futaba bugged your phone so we could listen in on your conversations. Your level of power when you fought for the first time in Sae's palace, the way you easily adapted to everything. Not to say that it wouldn't have been an impossible feat for a supposed beginner, but you have to admit that it merely played into our doubts."

Akechi still feels put-off how they genuinely expected he'd do _worse_ in his first time. Then again, he does have to admit that it supports their theory of him having been in the Metaverse before. 

Gesturing the other to continue, Akechi lifts his head from his palm to lean back, shifting so he could cross his legs.

Akira clearly fights with the next words, eyebrows furrowing slightly. "The most obvious clue was... pancakes."

Akechi blinks at the seemingly random and harmless word. This isn't what he expected. "Pancakes? I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage here."

"The first day at the TV station. Do you remember?"

Of course he does. Vividly so. Akechi used to play the scene over and over inside his head. So often that it feels like a mere fever-dream, a byproduct of his imagination at times. Several memories flash in front of his eyes until they stop precisely at the one where fate offered him its hand for the second time.

...Akechi had been on the phone prior, ending a call with Shido's subordinate. And- ah, yes, he did talk about wanting to have cakes. And the only reason that revelation made sense in combination with the Phantom Thieves finding out is that-

"-I heard Morgana talking that day."

"Exactly." At this, Akira actually looks a little smug. Akechi wants to wipe it off his face with a kiss or a fist – whichever comes first - but it would be a hassle to stand up and do so.

He'd let him have his triumphant moment, mainly because Akira still looks relatively comfortable, talking about the same people he'd sworn to protect in the presence of someone who plots their downfall.

Maybe it's easier for Akira because he's merely reciting events that are already irreversibly engraved into stone. It's a good sign nonetheless – despite his docile demeanor, Akechi knows there's still something rebellious in Akira, hidden from prying eyes in the depth of his spirit.

He'll drag that last bit out and _shatter_ it, right in front of Akira's eyes – and as soon as Akira is ready to confront the Phantom Thieves, Akechi will do the exact same thing again to eradicate anything that isn't _their_ future.

Failure isn't an option.

"Huh," Akechi murmurs, going over what he'd just been told." I've always felt like there was something _off_ about that day, but I could never pinpoint what exactly. Now I know that it's because neither of you had that high, childish voice Morgana talks in."

Maybe he could have figured it out alone at some point. When it truly comes down to it, Akechi can't recall a single instance where his gut feeling had wronged him. But Akechi was usually fixated on how effortlessly Akira had been able to blend in with his surrounding whenever he replays that encounter – hiding behind an unsuspecting facade that it even managed to slip past Akechi's inquisitive gaze who specializes in digging out the ugly sides in the midst of _ordinary_. 

(Not that Akira could be anything else than beautiful.)

Well, Akechi supposes he _had_ been quite distracted that day – and who could blame him for _not_ really being prepared for an accidental, _harmless_ meeting that turned out to be the very catalyst that'd change a future Akechi thought to be written?

"So, you've figured out that I'd hand you over to the police at some point," Akechi says, trailing off towards the end. "Pray tell - how did you plan on getting out of that?"

Akira picks up his strands to twirl them again. Akechi narrows his eyes. Akira should _know_ their plan, shouldn't he? He didn't miss how Akira's limbs began to grow stiffer, the slight arch of fingers that press tighter into the counter - all signs of uncertainty.

"During the heist on the casino, we planned to use a fake treasure once we defeated Sae," Akira answers. He lets the lock go in favor of running a hand through his hair fully, successfully messing it up even more. "We knew you were most likely going to pull an entire police squad into the Metaverse to catch us, and to make you think you'd succeed with your ploy, I… well, would have played decoy. Openly distracting them with the treasure to give you a safe escape."

The piercing gaze Akira now directs at the oven couldn't have been more different from before.

"My capture was planned, of course. We estimated I'd be put in a special cell near the courthouse where only few have access to."

"You're... more suicidal than I thought you'd be," Akechi mumbles.

He's irritated to see that the plan Akira continues to unravel actually lines up with what _he'd_ wanted to do as well. Up until the moment the thieves threw everything away and were foolish enough to enter his palace, of course.

Aside from the rage slowly building inside him at hearing Akira speak so casually about his fate, there's something else that lingers like an unpleasant aftertaste. Most likely also responsible for whatever continues breaking away the current state of Akira – a confusing mix of undeniable want and faint repulsion is what Akechi sees.

Akira offers a brittle smile that neither reaches his nor Akechi's face. "Maybe."

"So you were going to get caught on purpose. Up until now, you've merely avoided me getting suspicious of you. All in theory, of course, yet I fail to see how that would have prevented me from putting a bullet through your head."

To his credit, Akira doesn't even flinch at that. Akechi just doesn't know if it's because Akira finally believes his claims that he would have never followed through with his plan's original intent, or if it's Akira's self-preservation mechanisms failing in combination with some sick humor born out of past events kicking in. 

"Futaba has my phone wired as well," Akira suddenly says.

"Then it's good that I've taken it from you."

Chuckling mirthfully, Akira nods. "Yeah, probably. Futaba- she would have activated the Metaverse app remotely once Sae would have shown you mine."

Akira skipped over several details there, but Akechi can connect them quickly enough anyway. The rest of the puzzle pieces fall with a deafening click into their respective places. A frown overtakes his face before he knows it.

"You would have tried to use your charm on Sae so she'd show me your phone. I suppose Sakura would have then manually pulled me into the Metaverse."

"Spot on, detective," Akira dryly says.

Akechi puts his finger to his chin. "So, I would have been… in her palace, not in reality. And judging by what I would have done next–"

A small buzz of energy courses through him, the same sensation he feels whenever he's inches before solving a case.

"Ah, of course. Instead of the real Kurusu Akira, I would have killed a mere cognition from Sae inside of the interrogation room. And afterwards… Sae would have done some thinking on her own, mulling over whatever speech you gave her. The she would have sooner or later gone back to retrieve the very much alive you."

A smile splits Akechi's lips. "Correct me if I'm wrong?"

Akira takes a while to answer, expression gaining something that reminds Akechi of his earliest palace days. "…you know, sometimes I forget your fake side doesn't include your detective one."

It's a frightening intimate and incredibly naïve answer at once.

Akechi exhales through his nose. He's still processing the information from earlier. "A large number of cases were… _induced_ by my ability to use the Metaverse, but I'll have you know that I solved enough real ones without any aid to back up my rank as a detective. My deduction skills and intelligence are not related to my position, even less limited to it."

Akechi ponders about what to say. The silence between them is palpable, the slight humming of the oven doing nothing to alleviate that fact. It's a 180° turn of the domesticity that made talk easy and smiles light. 

"I won't deny that it's an interesting plan," Akechi slowly says.

The slip-up with the pancakes is still infuriating him to some extend – he can't blame himself too much though, seeing as he couldn't have been more at a disadvantage with his phone as a distraction and not knowing Morgana was in Akira's bag. But if he _wouldn't_ have gotten the inkling suspicion that Sakura had done something to his phone at one point or another, their plan actually had chances of working.

Emphasis on _chances._

Because even if Akechi would have been left in the dark of the entire situation conspiring around him, he knows he's simply too paranoid at times, has learned to expect and prepare for the worst, especially in matters as delicate as handling the leader of the same group of thieves that had been the biggest thorn in his first plan of dethroning Shido.

Akechi ponders more. Takes in how closed off Akira suddenly is, not quite meeting his gaze and grabbing his own forearm as if he's _uncomfortable,_ sees Akira's arm making that jerking motion where he wants to push up his glasses only to remember a heartbeat later that they're not there, tries to find out what caused his own skin itch with irritation the longer Akira spoke of their plan- and then Akechi finds it.

Laughs as realization overcomes him because _how_ could he have overlooked something so obvious the entire time?

He hears the air crack.

Akechi doesn't have to wait too long for the anger to settle low in his stomach. Hot, vigorous fury starting to boil and shake and vibrate from there, wanting nothing more but to burst forth and claim his other senses. Give into what's been hovering in the back of his mind.

Controlling his voice and mimic whenever he gets a little… _emotional_ is usually an easy task for Akechi. Though he has a tough time doing that at this very moment, his plans from earlier beginning to tremble under the sheer force of his anger.

"You do realize," Akechi flatly begins, and then has to break off to let a sharp exhale loose – so many emotions are brewing within him, all wanting to spill over, "That while it's certainly an _interesting_ plan, it is _full_ of flaws? So many obvious ones that the chances of you succeeding would have been so devastatingly _low_ that I'm _amazed_ your friends even agreed to it _?"_

His voice got uncontrollably louder towards the end. Akechi feels a twang of bitterness at seeing Akira flinch slightly, but he can hardly keep everything inside of him for much longer with how _hotly_ it burns – how does Akira _expect_ him to after hearing how carelessly the Phantom Thieves had been willing to present Akira on a silver plate yet again?

If Akechi possessed the tiniest amount of doubt in his views on them beforehand, they're wholly pulverized to a negative amount by now.

God, he'd been _generous_ in his descriptions of the thieves.

"It's the only way we could think of," Akira defends himself. His arms are crossed now, fingers clenching so tightly that they dig into the material of his black turtleneck. It's hard to identify with what emotion, given the red haze slowly settling over Akechi's own eyes.

"We've gone through so many plans and scenarios, but in the end, it was the only one that would have worked."

No _,_ Akechi realizes, taking the thief in the middle of his kitchen once more.

The solid stance, the calm breathing, the calculated glances.

_His_ Akira has started to retreat into his most inner shell right now – there was no reversion of the pure happiness and longing Akechi had been able to coax out. This was Akira's mind being cornered once again and realizing that if Akechi were successful yet _another_ time, there would be irreparable damage.

What's trying to _defy_ him right now is the rebellious spirit of Joker trying to break past the cage Akechi already created.

"Of course _they_ thought it would work," Akechi manages to get past gritted teeth. He pushes himself off the chair, and Akira shifts on his spot into a defensive position, but Akechi stays in his side of the room. "You feel it too, don't you? That dooming sensation coiling inside of your stomach since you started telling me about your great plan."

"It's _you_ were talking about after all," Akira mumbles. "It was hard _not_ to be nervous. You were the variable we had trouble trying to figure out. Were you as strong as we estimated you to be? Or perhaps even stronger? There was no way to tell if we could have safely incapacitated or... kidnapped you." Akira grimaces at that. "And even if we could – what would we do with you afterwards?"

_Killing me,_ Akechi thinks, having to suppress a snort of amusement. Of course the Phantom Thieves wouldn't have thought of that, living by their cute little moral code.

"There was no way we would have been able to pull this off with an ordinary, safe plan," Akira heatedly says.

Akechi laughs. He can't fucking believe it. "While I'd be thoroughly _flattered_ to receive such words in any other situation, could you please look at yourself for once?" He goes for a softer tone, watching a flicker of guilt pass gray depths. "Like I've been telling you to these past weeks?" It's gone already, and the steel grows even harder.

Akechi is tempted to ruin the build-up he worked on so damn hard by merely catching the Phantom Thieves the next time they sneak around his palace and absolutely decimate them. He's just as tempted to pin Akira to the floor and shatter Joker for what he's worth. Both options sound incredibly appealing to him right now.

"Tell me," Akechi begins anew when realizing that Akira will remain silent until he says something again. It's the same issue back when they've come to an agreement on cooking – so Akechi knows how to deal with it by now. "Tell me the flaws of your plan yourself."

Akira looks up, visibly perplex for a few seconds. Clearly having expected something else than a round of questions. "What-?"

"Now. I know you can do it. Objectiveness and rationality is your strength when you're not clouded by your dear friends." Akechi's firm tone turns deceivingly gentle. "Go on, tell me. When and where would your plan have failed?"

Most likely realizing he's fighting a losing battle, Akira averts his eyes again, jaw working. Akechi is about to open his mouth to further coax him out of his corner when the other finally starts speaking.

"If I failed to convince Sae, she wouldn't have shown you the phone." The biggest, painfully obvious flaw. Almost guaranteed to fail because Akira would have most likely needed to explain the entire Metaverse to her if he wanted to convince her that he's anywhere near trustworthy.

Akechi smiles, cold and dark. "Continue. You can begin much earlier."

"If you'd... have found out that we bugged your phone."

"Which I did," Akechi happily reminds him.

Granted, he never got it _officially_ checked, but he bought a different one just in case.

"If you would have stationed more forces outside of the palace than we calculated. If the police squad wouldn't have focused on just me. If Futaba got captured as well. If one of us slipped up."

Each word sounded like it physically pains Akira to get them out. Joker is desperately trying to break through fully.

The _ding_ of the oven finishing briefly cuts through the silence. It does nothing but make them more aware of the current topic of their conversation when they argued over different things altogether an hour ago. Akechi sees Akira mechanically reaching for the oven to turn it off, only to revert back to his position right after that.

"You realize it, don't you? Too many chances, too many opportunities to slip up." Akechi lets that information sink in, and the wrath within him settles down to a low, burning fire that edges Akechi on to do something with the remains. He doesn't, not yet, pushes a few bangs out of his face instead as if the gesture could contain the beast dragging its lazy maw across the floor, more than ready to strike.

"Now that I think about it..." he trails off, eyeing his fingernails. "Would you have figured out _anything_ if I wouldn't have mentioned-" Akechi chews the word for a while, annoyed at the banality of it, "- _pancakes_?"

Akira _still_ isn't looking at him.

Akechi's anger has calmed down to manageable levels, but he's a little more than irritated about the fact that Akira won't meet his gaze. He got rid of his glasses so that Akira wouldn't be able to _hide_ from him – and now he keeps on doing that differently.

Joker stares at him from the corner of his eyes.

"...No. We wouldn't have suspected you in the first place then," Akira says in a voice that leaves little room for interpretation.

Akechi scoffs. "Ridiculous."

"But why does that matter? You slipped up; we figured out a plan that could have worked. There was no other way for us to outsmart you if we wanted you to believe me dead and get you off our trail."

"You're absolutely right," Akechi responds. The calmness in his voice betrays his actual emotions. He starts pacing around, slowly, never losing Akira out of his line of vision. "Regrettably, as it is, it's indeed the only solution I could think of right now that had a remote chance of working out."

"Then why are you picking at it so much?" Akira says in an increasingly angered tone, fingernails dragging across the fabric of his top. "Why do you point out its flaws despite knowing there was no other way? If your only option is to _jump,_ you'd do it."

He's remarkable, Akechi realizes. Even this deep, even after everything Akechi has done to him – Akira still manages to utilize the last parts of himself the moment he feels most threatened. Where others would give in and submit to their fear, Akira sharpens it into a knife he wields like the familiar weight of a dagger. He does it with the same grace as Joker in the Metaverse.

But if Akechi were to destroy even that?

He licks his lips.

"Even if you won't know if there will be something preventing your death or not – the fact that it's your _only_ option is enough of a reason," Akira grimly finishes.

Or Joker. It's hard to tell them apart at this point.

"Prolonging the inevitable seems to be a specialty of yours," Akechi dryly remarks. "I'm pointing out the flaws in your only plan, but not for the logical aspect of it. Ah, pardon, that wasn't exactly true – what I'm trying to say is that I want your attention to shift elsewhere."

Akechi doesn't slam his hand on the kitchen table like he wants to. He puts it down very carefully, leaning onto it as he watches Akira through half-lidded eyes. "I made you point out the many, many flaws that would have led to your sure death to make you aware that everybody else seems to have been… fine ignoring that."

The wildfire in Akechi had already burned down, leaving a cold, ashen landscape of collected resentment, but parts of it have flown to Akira with the way he clenches his arms. Words still forming, dagger still spinning like a broken clockwork.

"I volunteered," Akira says, daringly tilting his chin a bit.

Laughing darkly, Akechi briefly rubs the bridge of his nose. "Of course you did," he murmurs. "But did you volunteer because you wanted to do it out of your conviction, or did you volunteer because you wanted to _protect_ your friends?"

"Both options sound the same to me."

"They're not the same," Akechi growls. "I could go about how they pressured you into taking the lead role, shouldering all the responsibility and fate of your group on your shoulder yet again. We've gone over this, so I won't. But even if you _didn't_ do it for them. If you volunteered entirely because you simply felt like it, it does _not_ change the fact that _they_ commended to see you basically committing suicide."

Finally, _finally_ Akira meets his eyes.

Akechi is momentarily captivated by the _motion_ in them – fires blazing, seas swallowing, winds howling all at once after being tamed by Akechi for the past days. Something that had silently melted into the background comes forth with unmatched vigor, angry at having been more or less consciously suppressed. Trying to make up for its absence through sheer intensity.

Just like Akira, Joker is beautiful.

But Akechi had already tainted him too deeply; dipped the light color of his justice into contrasting shades of black. In this desperate confidence, Akechi can see the fragility in the eye of the storm, much like that one time.

There are cracks for Akechi to put his claws in, cracks to clench and rip apart so that he can fill them.

"It's not like they were _happy_ when it came to the execution," Joker angrily points out. His tone shifted, venturing into darker, gravely territory. "We were aware of the risks. They worried about me. A strange concept, right? The scum of earth feeling empathetic for their leader. Must be hard to imagine, especially for you."

The Phantom Thieves may have thought about _some_ of the risks.

Even then. Akira is undoubtedly _dead_ in an alternate universe where Akechi didn't develop… feelings as strong as these.

Or worse – a reality where he _did_ develop them but was too much of a coward to act on them, too blinded by his own, pitiful path of vengeance, believing himself to not be worthy of anyone.

At this point, it's hard to keep the chilling ice out of his voice. "People talk big, Akira. You should know that. It's easy to lose sight of reality if you rely on hypotheticals that happen to play into your favor too much."

Joker stares at him, remaining unimpressed.

Akechi pushes himself off the counter, straightening his dress-shirt more out of habit than necessity. He spends a second brushing some of his bangs out of his face as well – he's due for a haircut soon. Maybe he should take Akira with him.

"The success rate remains abyssal, no matter how you look at it. And yet they still pushed you to do it despite all the odds." He snarls. "Did they try and comfort you? Words of sympathy and worry hold no worth when their action says otherwise."

"You said it yourself that there was no other plan!" Joker angrily returns. 

"Yes – but does such end justify the means? If your friends truly cared for you, they would have found another way neither of us is capable of conjuring at the moment. God, anything is better than sending a dear _friend_ to their sure death, especially for such feeble sense of justice."

Akechi turns his head to fix Joker with his gaze. His gray eyes are still burning, if not with more ferocity than in the beginning. With his body this tense, he looks like he'll lunge in any moment, and Akechi is nothing but prepared, feels the fire starting to lick at the insides of his body again, demanding in a choir of cackles and prayers to be let out.

"Fighting me would have resulted in an overwhelming defeat," Akechi continues. Grinds his teeth for a bit. "But it's not like you had firm proofs that time to back up your suspicions. There was a flickering chance of beating me with your advantage in numbers and affinity for status ailments. If you would have managed to catch me off-guard, that is."

"And what would we have done afterwards with you? You know we don't kill." Joker spits out the last word like it's dirt he just stepped on.

"Does it _matter_ ?" Akechi hisses back. "Try to focus on the fact that that way, _everyone_ would have been forced to participate, not just leaving _you_ to deal with this mess alone. It's not the first time they push everything onto you. The Phantom Thieves don't want to carry any of the burden themselves – why would they if you've done successfully so for a while now?"

The air around them gets increasingly colder and hotter at the same time until it feels like charged electricity crackling between them, ready to react with its components at any given moment.

"Why does it all matter anyway?" Joker throws back his own words at him, agitated. He's openly gripping the counter now, teeth entirely on display - a completely different picture from his shy and pliant demeanor. His words are molten fire, matching his expression now partially shielded by black strands of hair as he tilts his head down.

"It's all _gone._ It may have been our plan, but we didn't even get to Sae's treasure, and you didn't end up killing me. In the end, nothing of our plan actually got implemented. Aren't you the person who always says it's useless speaking in hypotheticals?" His voice is barely above a whisper, but for Akechi, they couldn't have been clearer.

"It _does_ matter because your so-called _friends_ fully intended on pulling through despite all the blatant holes and leaks your glorious excuse for a plan showed!"

Why is Akira so goddamn perceptive about the people around him, yet so _stubborn_ and ignorant of them at the same time? "Akira," he says, in a low tone that conveys more than the range of his thoughts are able to. Akechi closes his eyes, schools his expression. Maybe he's failing – he can't tell when he opens his eyes again. "It's easy telling a person to jump down the cliff when _they themselves_ don't have to."

Joker's eyes widen the barest amount.

"I- no. What are you talking about?" Joker spits angrily. He's now leaning onto the same table Akechi previously lounged at, the aura around him having grown into something heavy and dangerous Akechi can't help but crave. "They were as involved in this as I was. There's no way-"

"As far as I'm concerned, it all would have ended up with them waiting in the comfort of their home," Akechi interrupts him. "Doing nothing but biting their nails while you would have sat in the cold, harsh reality of an interrogation room, completely at the police's mercy, trying to convince an adult prosecutor that floating banks, monsters, and colorful magic actually exist. You were incredibly stupid to think Sae would believe something that sounds like a _child's_ tale, no matter how well it lines up with the corresponding events. Have you also not taken her desperation to keep her success rate into consideration? You would have been alone. Completely, utterly alone."

"But-"

"But what, Akira?" Akechi is vaguely aware that he has neighbors, but his rage is bursting forth again, hot flames nearly eating him up.

Let them think what they want for once. Not that they'd care enough to call any authority, anyway. No one cared or cares.

Only Akira did.

"But _it's not like that_? But _you're wrong_? Don't simplify these things, and don't you dare pull some bullshit like _we're friends and they all put their beliefs in me_. That's the exact flaw of this entire relationship. They trust you to carry their baggage, nothing more. Such cliché rubbish only works in fiction. Can't you see it, Akira? They would have left you _alone_ in this unfair world full of rotten adults."

He didn't plan on getting… _this infuriated_ again, but now that he has Joker in front of him in all his glory – still so fucking _powerful and vivid_ despite not being in the Metaverse - Akechi is unable to stop the torrent of sheer anger at the Phantom Thieves antics spilling out of him. The _audacity_ they have. Coming up with a less than half-baked plan, subjecting their leader to most, if not all the dangers of it, all to turn their back on him while hoping he'd be able to do the rest by himself.

What a load of _crap._

"They would have _abandoned you_ ," Akechi continues, pacing around the room because he can't control his limbs anymore. Akira _always_ gets him like this even when cornered, clawing at Akechi's nerves of steel with a frightening persistence. It's intoxicating and addictive as much as it drives Akechi insane.

"Fighting me wasn't a better option, but at least it would have put _all_ of your lives on the line as well. It would have shown you're as important to them as they are to you; that they're willing to risk their feeble lives for their oh so beloved leader. _Dedication_."

"What does this have to do with you?" Joker shouts, eyes blazing. "Why are you getting so fucking worked up over this?"

Akechi sees red and white and all sorts of colors at the same time.

"Because I _CARE_!"

Akechi cares.

When everybody averted their eyes, Akechi looked.

What the Phantom Thieves continued kicking with their feet, Akechi picked up the pieces of and found beauty in its fragile state.

An opportunity.

They basically _made_ Akira run straight into his arms, would have practically offered him with a bow to the authorities if Akechi hadn't interfered.

And they have the audacity to blame _Akechi_ for everything. Blaming him for all that transpired because _they let it happen_ in the first place.

It's nothing but nonsense, so absurd that he can't even find it in himself to laugh at it.

Akechi leans forward on the counter again, feeling both of their presence clash like the first time they made eye-contact in the Metaverse behind their masks – potent with power they'll probably never know the true extent of, but excited all the same.

Joker mirrors the gesture, spreading his own arms on the counter.

Only this time, their battle is in reality – no masks, no persona to back them up—mortal flesh and thoughts.

It's a battle Akechi _will not lose._

"They make me so fucking mad," Akechi growls. Watches as Joker breathes in the same air, mask not yielding under the force of his words. Refusing to bend. "The mere _notion_ that they've never cared for you makes me want to tear entire Mementos apart. Don't avert your eyes. Not this time. The Phantom Thieves sent you into your straight _death,_ and they were _happy_ to get rid of you."

Akechi laughs because he just...

can't.

"You're just a toy for them. It's fucking unbelievable. I'm the- I'm the _only one_ in this entire goddamn world to give more than just a shit about you."

Joker's mouth stretches into a grin so wide that it seems to rip his face apart. Akira is bleeding through.

Because they're rivals.

-because he is Akechi's _equal-_

_-_ because Akira understands Akechi and Akechi understands Akira to levels no one could ever comprehend, the electricity in the air discharges with a maddening scream from both sides.

They lunge at each other.

Joker is faster than him, dragging Akechi by the collar over the counter to spit into his face. **"Stop fucking lying!** _**"** _

_"I'm not,"_ Akechi heaves. Reaching out to grab a handful of hair since he can't pry Joker's steel grip off of him, he uses all of his strength to try and slam Joker's face onto the counter.

The impact isn't as strong as it would have been if Akechi managed to catch him off-guard, but the hands leave his collar anyway, and he's free. Keeping a firm hand on the back of Joker's head and applying even more pressure, Akechi rounds the corner of the aisle in a flash, pressing a free hand onto his back to keep Joker down. The sound is muffled, but there's no mistaken the snarls of frustrated fervor.

"Stubborn shit," Akechi hisses, groaning when Akira's flying legs hit him in the shin. He lowers his hand to press it into a nape instead, but Joker's own arms come up to try and pry it off. Fingernails dig so hard into Akechi's skin that he feels it giving away after a mere second. The stinging pain is drowned out by everything else.

Akechi leans over the other, panting with adrenaline as the dull pain in his leg adds to the chaos surrounding them both. " **You** are the liar here _."_

He continues caging Joker in from behind, pressing him with even more force into the counter's flat surface, knocking away some random things in the process. "If I wouldn't care, I would have never gone through all this trouble. Fuck, you're taking so long to realize I'd do anything. You hear me?" Fire dances freely around them, happy to be unleashed, spurred on by the low hisses Akechi earns for applying more pressure on everything he can reach.

"I'd do _anything_ for you, Akira. _"_

It's a thought that frightened Akechi once. He embraces it, now, because it fuels what's pumping in his veins, pushes him to keep up the detective act just a little longer. All for the sake of _him._

But it's not Akira he's talking to at the moment.

Joker growls. 

Akechi does not expect him to suddenly _grind_ his behind against Akechi's crotch.

Hot arousal cuts through his rage like a knife for a split second, but it's enough for his grip to momentarily weaken, and then Joker is throwing all of his weight back against Akechi, making him collide with the high edge of the aisle behind him.

Akechi barely prevents his head from colliding with the cupboards, but pain explodes in his lower back as impossibly hard furniture crashes into it. He howls in a mixture of rage and hurt while Joker whirls around, ablaze fury all written over his face.

Akira is a cornered animal, a bird trying to fly despite knowing there is no escape from the jaws closing in on all sides.

Joker is trying to win the fight his mind lost.

It's only due to his honed instincts through the Metaverse that Akechi snaps himself out of the pain running through his system like boulders trying to crush him. He barely dodges the first swing of a fist, receives a second one into his jaw that immediately makes saliva and blood fly to the side, but is able to catch the jab into the vulnerable expanse of his throat.

Akechi allows a brief moment of acknowledgment to flow over him – if he hadn't gotten used to the more sociopathic techniques Akira kept using in the dance room in their many spars, this move would have incapacitated him without a doubt.

With one of Joker's wrist between his fingers, Akechi clenches them with unrelenting force. Joker howls in pain, already winding up his other arm to free himself.

A sudden jerk of Akechi's knee into a stomach and Joker is doubling over, eyes wide with excruciating pain. Akechi's back throbs from the earlier impact with the edge of the kitchen isle, but it's practically non-existent with the _rush_ of emotion blending out everything inside of his head that doesn't contribute to making Joker submit.

The move is a bit uncoordinated with the tight angle he's working with, but Akechi manages to send Joker crashing into the ground with a kick to his head, and then Akechi is on him.

They're rolling and bawling over the floor, regularly knocking into chairs and hard edges that would leave bruises, but they couldn't care less, not when so much is at stake, and the world is fading and emptying itself around them until only they are left.

Joker is underneath Akechi in one second, clawing and hissing like the cornered beast he's grown into, and then Joker is on top in the next. Flicking his wrist in the last second so that his knuckles crash into Akechi's ear instead of his temple, disrupting the detective's sense of balance successfully for the next few minutes, an advantage Joker uses to wrestle the one beneath him down. Trying to crush him with his weight, laughing abhorrently while doing so.

But where Akira is desperate and _confused,_ finally showing that Akechi has driven him into a corner where Joker has to step in and let buried instincts take over, Akechi is livid determination perfected over the years, mixed with so much desire, so much _passion_ for the person dying on top of him that he _can't._

_Can't lose physically, mentally, in any way possible._

**"Arhg- AKECHI!"**

He needs Joker gone first.

Akechi trades in a fist against his solar plexus in favor of being able to grab Joker's throat with both of his hands. Ignoring the lack of air in his lunges and the feelings of numbness spreading from the center of his chest outwards, Akechi throws himself against the other again, pinning him to the ground. "If-," Akechi pants, squeezing, bleeding, grinning, marking-

"If- fuck, y _ou would have died if it wasn't for me."_

Akechi _needs_ to make this clear, seize the reigns Akira unintentionally presented him before Joker wrapped him up in a protective shell for Akechi to destroy. Below him, Akechi sees the first flickers in the heated tenacity that fights against the hand around its throat. Then, Joker answers with something else Akechi should have accounted for- hooking his feet around Akechi's ankles, pulling his legs abruptly wide apart.

_Fucking Taekwondo_ , Akechi thinks as he flops down on top of Joker due to not being able to support all of his weight anymore.

**"So, what if I died?"** Now Joker is the one having the entirety of his arm around Akechi's throat in a headlock. More spit hits his burning cheeks. Joker's other hand yanks at his hair in wild motions. **"You- you don't care. You** _**can't** _ **care. All this is just a fucking huge lie. You'll discard me like everyone else when you've had your** _**fun."** _

Akechi feels light-headed as his airflow continues getting cut off. The choking hold so effective because of how _mercilessly_ Joker is squeezing. Akechi blindly flails around, trying to get his hands on anything he could use to push the other off, make him weaken his grip. The red haze clogging all of Akechi's senses gets lighter, hazier, only for it to settle again when he manages to grab _something._

_"I- won't-"_

Akechi channels all of his strength in his fingers and _pushes._

Joker lets out a deafening cry. Oxygen floods Akechi's fluttering lungs in the next second. He only has a short moment to see that he had been able to dig his hands into a large, near purple bruise just above Joker's hip before he throws himself on Joker again, both gliding over the floor for some distance.

This time, Akechi knows better, barely manages to wrestle strong arms coming up to hit him together, and with a mighty heave, Joker is forced to flop onto his side, then onto his stomach where Akechi immediately pins both of his arms to the small of his back. Twisting the straining limbs so hard that if Akechi were to apply any more pressure, he's sure he's going to break something.

" _Stay still_."

The guttural, devastated scream he gets in response twangs Akechi's heart a little amid the heating, pulsating waves of a battle coating him _outside_ of the Metaverse, but he knows this is for Akira's own sake. Mindful to not leave himself as open as before and give the other room to use twisted self-defense techniques, Akechi moves from straddling his legs to crouch by his side. He lifts one knee to dig into the vulnerable spot of Joker's lower back.

**"Argh- F-fuck, let me go, LET ME GO!"** Joker's legs wildly kick around, but they can't reach Akechi from this angle anymore. Joker must realize that, snarling as he tries to struggle with his upper body instead.

"No," Akechi growls. "You've done enough running away. You're going to stay with me."

It's a stamina battle from then on. Joker grows more and more desperate as he begins to realize the hopelessness of his situation, his spit curses and low drawls becoming more distraught for each second that stretches entirely too long until Joker is only a rattling and gasping mess, smearing droplets of blood all over his floor because of how much and hard he's bitten his lips.

Despite the promise of graspable victory sweetening Akechi's own aches of his limbs, he's starting to become tired as well, so he presses his knee just a bit more down, knowing very well that Joker is straining his body to the limit if he can wriggle under this much threatening pressure.

Predictably, Joker's enraged cries turn into pure anguish. His flailing stops as he sags onto the floor, reduced to ragged breathing and sharp intakes of air. Akechi stops his knee, flicks some sweaty bangs clinging to his forehead, and leans down.

Joker's face looks utterly beaten, one eye already swelling from where Akechi had hit him while bawling and rolling over the ground. The cheek squashed on the floor must no doubt be swelling as well, but Akechi can't see that well at the moment, too transfixed on the glare Joker sends him that's so much weaker than all the ones before.

Joker is losing his strength. And not only that but also his will for _rebellion,_ forcefully extracted through Akechi's very hands. Trickling out of him like an ugly and gaping wound, collecting on the floor and tiles. Akechi is scooping those parts up, greedily absorbing them into his own body as he holds Joker down, taking in his very essence and purpose.

Joker lets out a yelp, and Akechi realizes he must have subconsciously increased the strength on the wrists he's still holding. Intending to snap bone, crush them until they're the same, white powder that escapes merry little clouds on Christmas Eve. Softening his grip a little, Akechi allows himself the first, proper intake of air, feeling his mind cool just a little.

Joker _stays_ still, lying pathetically on the floor beneath him, looking at Akechi through increasingly tired eyes.

The world has burned to ashes around them.

A cruel laugh falls from Akechi's chest, from the same part that purrs when Joker's eyes attempt to pierce him once more in an attempt of retaliation. A futile demeanor because Akechi has already sliced him up.

Akechi won – now he'll have to spend just a little more effort until he can claim his prize.

"You say that I don't care," Akechi murmurs, low and sterile and flat. His cold, exhausted anger is not directed at Akira himself, the other should know that, but it doesn't change how much the tone starts peeling away the rest of Joker's layers. "That implies your friends do. But where are they now?"

Joker swallows. And groans, working his mouth several times before managing to get out an answer that isn't jumbled mush. **"-working on getting me out, I believe."**

"It's been two months already."

Jokers trembles so beautifully that Akechi lets one hand card through tousled, black hair in a poor attempt to calm him. Joker still doesn't fight, not when now only one hand pins both of his wrists down, not when Akechi eases some of the pressure on his lower back.

A dim smile spreads on Akechi's lips. He can taste his own tiredness on the roof of his mouth, but it pales in comparison to the dark contentment making up for the lack of angry adrenaline. "Almost _two_ _months_ for a single palace. I know you've had lesser deadlines, met them even earlier. Even with you gone – particularly because you're gone - shouldn't they have already freed you? Wanting their dear leader back as fast as possible?"

An idea flashes in Akechi's mind. With the hand running through Joker's hair, he quickly reaches for his own belt, making quick work of pulling it off.

Joker starts struggling again when he gets the gist of what will happen, but it's an effort barely worth mentioning. Akechi quickly puts the belt around two wrists, fastening it to not come loose unless with help from an external source.

With a quick tug, pull, and readjustment from his side, Akechi is now leaning against the empty space of a wall, Joker involuntarily straddling his lap as Akechi uses both of his now free hands to hold thigh down, the other reaching for Joker's now trembling face.

Which is a complete mess, but he's still so heart-achingly beautiful that Akechi can't help but trail the wounds _he_ inflicted, taking delight in the way faint remorse wreck Joker's body. All the pain throbbing and digging through his own skin, dull in the background – nothing less than worth it.

Joker – maybe Akira? Has his eyes squeezed shut like he's afraid of what will happen if he opens them.

Akechi sees his shoulder tense with the effort to move, but he merely digs his fingers harder into the thigh, earning a tremor that rolls over the body straddling him like a beautiful wave of destruction. 

Akechi lets a bare finger travel from chin down to an exposed throat, enjoying how heated the skin feels beneath his touch. Like he's drawing a permanent mark on Joker only he can see.

Joker could maybe free himself if he wanted to.

"Akira."

Akechi stops, then laughs as he lays out the next sentences in his head. He hovers his finger between a set of beautiful collarbones, lightly pressing into the vulnerable flesh, before moving to the external jugular vein that pulsates rapidly beneath his touch. Akechi draws everything his words can't convey. Joker's eyes remain closed.

"There is no room they haven't explored yet," he whispers. "They went through all the three layers of my theater just a while ago."

Joker's breath hitches.

"What?"

"That's right," Akechi murmurs lowly, leaning in to ghost his nose over Joker's cheek. He smirks into the skin and starts pressing feather-light kisses against it that barely linger for half a second.

The pulse under his fingertips jumps, quickening.

"No, that- that can't be. If they've-" Joker falters again, grips Akechi's shoulders, the rest of his body shuddering like it can't decide between steadying or push him away. "If they've cleared your palace, they should have found me at some point. Y-your treasure at last, or your Sha-"

"And why is it that they didn't?" Akechi cuts him off. He licks a teasing stripe from the column of the other's throat up, continues to greedily eat Joker up with one word at a time. Presses their forehead together afterwards, even though his' throbs from their fight earlier. Or maybe he collided with the edge of a chair or a table. It doesn't matter.

Gray eyes are still closed, but Akechi is content with watching long, pretty eyelashes tremble.

It's almost ironic. Akechi told Joker his friends don't care – yet now he goes about how the Phantom Thieves are clearing the theater. It goes unspoken that there's something wrong with that statement, though, and Akechi knows that Joker knows, too, or else he wouldn't have crumbled like he does now.

"You're lying," Joker weakly repeats like all the other times where temporary rage made him strong, voice barely above a whisper.

Akechi chuckles darkly. The weight of Joker is comfortable in his lap – he could get used to this.

"Every single one of them comes into my palace regularly under the pretense of freeing you. But the only thing they want is their _leader_ back. A concept, one that would lead them through all this mess while taking all responsibility. _Joker._ And… you haven't been Joker for quite a while now, have you?"

Akechi leans back to watch Joker opening his eyes. Threads coming loose, becoming undone, and unraveling the unfathomable fragility that is Akira.

"You can already see it in the theater," Akechi laughs, greedily drinking in the sight of Akira's face so open, vulnerable before him. So close that there's nowhere to hide for either of them. "I would have not thought to associate velvet blue with you, but it does suit you well."

A dull flash of recognition.

"I've seen," Akira weakly admits. He leans in, looking like he wants to rest his forehead on his shoulder like that one time, but jerks himself back in the last second, averting his gaze to stare down where Akechi's fingers are splayed over a thigh in a possessive grip.

To pry them off or press them further in?

"I'm not- I'm not that ignorant. I've seen it. But- I thought it was just-"

"It was just what, Akira? Something like one of the shadows wanting to paint the walls a different color because they felt like it? Something other than a seed of a palace merging with an already existing one?"

There are no words to describe the expression Akira makes. Perhaps _stunned_ comes closest to it.

Eyes wide, pupils nearly swallowed by the light. No visible intake of breath, as if his entire body stopped working for a moment. Akechi can't put the satisfaction grounding him into words as well, because he's right – Akira had been running away this entire time, turning a blind eye to the most obvious clues. Hoped like the naïve person he is that the considerable amount of change Akechi's theater is going through is anyone's but _his_ fault.

Akechi surges forward, grinning as he bites into the offering of an already split open bottom lip, earning a muffled gasp that comes with nothing else.

"Don't deny it," Akechi murmurs against his mouth. "If there was time to bloom, you would have become the holder of a palace, just like me. Despite your _heart_ being open for a persona, it has split itself as well, started turning into something that silently grew. Hidden from prying eyes. Only coming out when it saw that it'd be accepted, that it could covet and grow without anything judging it."

"What are you saying?" Akira whispers. A gulp. "I can't possibly be a palace holder, much less a candidate."

"You're not a palace holder _yet_."

He remembers entering Akira's name into the Metaverse nav almost religiously at some point in time, always asking himself why the other didn't have a palace. In retro-perspective, Akechi wonders why he didn't put everything together sooner.

The last realization came the moment he saw his Shadow's hand _phasing_ through a railing he wanted to grip. The weakening of the connection they hold, the strengthening of another one.

Akira's face is paler than usual, even in the dark lighting. Akechi brushes their lips together again, but like before, he doesn't get a reaction. Akira's lips move against his, only to make place for the words wedging themselves out of his throat.

"I don't- just, why?" Akira mutters weakly. From this distance, Akechi can see how droplets of water start to collect at the edge of his eyes. "Akechi, why do you still want me after all this? I've- I've got the potential, no, the _proof_ of a palace. Which means I'm a selfish, horrible, despi-"

Akechi's shushes him with his lips. He doesn't want to hear any of this because he knows it isn't true. 

"Sometimes, you seem to forget that I have a palace too, my dear."

Akira says nothing.

Akechi presses the softest of kisses to the corner of a quivering mouth to coax out what Akira wants to say, starts undoing the belt holding his wrists together.

"Aren't you… afraid?" Akira inquires in the softest, rawest voice he's heard so far. 

Akechi thinks for a while, contemplates what he wants to say, goes through all the calculations and possible answers in his head before he discards them, opting to simply speak.

He throws the belt that's still in his hands to the side. Akira looks like he doesn't know where to put his now free hands, so he lets his arms stay limp, averting his gaze. 

"I _am_ afraid. It would be foolish to not be. But at the same time, it's a glimpse into the future. Of _our_ future together." Akechi tilts Akra's head back to him. "No matter how hard you try – you can't escape me, just as much as I can't let you go. Our fates are intertwined like that." Akechi breathes out. "I'm the only one you need."

The blood pumps remarkably fast in Akechi's body as if their previous fight and exhaustion are forgotten, erased for this moment. The close proximity, the charged air, the fact he has taken Joker away from sweet, beautiful Akira.

Not in the Metaverse after a battle of magic.

In reality after their ideals clashed once more.

Too bad it wasn't a fair fight.

Akechi travels his fingertips across Akira's body. Light and intimate, with the intention to remember and treasure. The knowledge that all this is his - it's nothing short of empowering _._

"I accept you for who you are. For the dark sides you try to hide from the world. I want to take it, to coax it out, to show you that it's fine to succumb to it. Resisting will hurt you. Denying will hurt you. Thinking of _them_ will hurt you. And pain is terrible, isn't it? It's human instinct to avoid pain. It's like your body needs food and water and sleep – a requirement to live. This isn't any different. Us isn't. Haven't you felt more alive than ever these pasts months?

Akechi exhales, low and shakily, then picks up his voice again, barely audible in the thick tension around them. He pulls back, but only to have a better view of Akira's face. Akechi grips his chin with shaking fingers even he can't control, transfixed how open those haunting eyes are, staring him down like they're judging his very soul stripped away from the flesh and empty emotions.

He sees the flashes of voracity peeking through. Raw, begging to be unleashed, requiring just a little more.

"I won't ever betray you," Akechi whispers. "because I love you."

Something _leaves_ Akira, makes his body sag, forehead pressing against Akechi's again. He doesn't feel the remnants of pain anymore. And Akira's eyes-

The breath fights its way upwards Akechi's throat, but he can't get it out.

Tentative, shy. Unsure and full of guilt, _guilt, guilt_ that Akechi is about to happily devour with his bare teeth.

Acceptance.

"Akechi...," Akira breathes.

His lungs are still constricting, but he can't help but lean forward, tilt his head a bit – and Akira meets his lips half-way.

It's like a switch got flicked – all of what Akechi felt earlier, everything that made heated words spill over his lips without a second thought, acting out of instinct – all merged together in the need to make the other _let go._

_Feel_ what Akechi is feeling whenever he looks at Akira, the infinite potential wanting to bloom under his hands, what he could do with it, what they both could do if they gave it the softest of nudges.

_To make him understand, to treasure him, to never let him doubt himself again._

Akechi groans into the open mouth, feeling the same kind of insatiable hunger wiping out his thoughts. Akira only arches into him, slotting their bodies together, closer than they were before.

"Mine," Akechi growls in between hungry kisses and exchange of saliva, stuffing two fingers in Akira's mouth and _yanking_ so Akechi could finally mark his throat up like he'd been longing to, paint a whole star constellation for only him to admire. The turtleneck is inconvenient, but Akechi pulls the collar down to get better access before roughly grabbing a waist that feels perfect.

"You're fucking mine, and no one else's. Others do not know, will _never_ understand what you are-"

Akira moans airily around his fingers, desperately sucking on them like he's going to die if he doesn't.

"A-Akechi-"

"Goro," Akechi hisses.

He wants to- he wants to-

he wants

he wants

he wants

"Call me Goro," he pleads, yearningly. " _Please."_

Akira makes the most desperate noise he'd heard him do.

"G-Goro- mhhhm-"

He's drunk on Akira, on his moans, on his desperate, subconscious antics that only further rile him up, and now that his first name spills from bitten, abused lips, Goro feels like he could take on whole Japan.

Akira continues to chant his name like it's a prayer.

"Goro, Goro- I- please, please, just don't-"

He hungrily meets Akira's open lips, eagerly swallowing his doubts and desperate cries until there's nothing left but their future. 

"I'm here," Goro manages to mumble into him, feeling so much _love_ spilling forth that he can't quite possibly grasp what he's feeling right now.

"Don't leave me, don't leave me, don't betray me like them-" Akira mindlessly chants, and Goro presses their cheeks together. Inhales his scent. Exhales one word as Akira entangles his fingers in Goro's hair, yanking, gripping, pleading. 

"Never."

* * *

That day, Futaba sees parts of Akira die.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Check out[this lovely artwork](https://twitter.com/angelsxbunnyxx/status/1335679357185101825) by [@angelsxbunnyxx](https://twitter.com/angelsxbunnyxx) for their interpretation of a scene in this chapter! Thank you so much <3!**
> 
> soooo... does this still count as slow burn if they're at mutual first name basis after 130k words but fucked more than once before?
> 
> :D
> 
> guys I'm serious though this fic will get out of hand XDD Speaking of hand, I actually wrote about Akira's hands being bound and then like, described him yanking on Goro's hair a few passages later... obviously it's edited now, but lol, what a plothole-
> 
> [My (mostly) Akeshu twitter!](https://twitter.com/voraciousTash)


	18. thousands of moons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This outline was written before I got through Royal, so please excuse some inaccuracy about Goro's past! I also went with the trope that Akira kept the fact he was framed into the probation to himself. Oh, there's also a section in the second half of the chapter where Goro's thoughts get a bit violent, just as a heads up.
> 
> Thank you for everyone's patience regarding this chapter, and thank you [BrownieQueen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrownieQueen/pseuds/BrownieQueen) for beta-reading this bigass baby! I will talk a bit about my future update schedule at the bottom note, but for now, please enjoy this.

Shadow Akechi watches the bare stage with an empty audience.

It's a sight he's gotten used to – where his theater had once been brimming with trivial life and hollow laughter and fake smiles, it's hauntingly empty now. Granted, there are still a few, shadowy persons thriving through the area, but they're lost most of the time, searching for something his theater will not give.

Shadow Akechi wants to feel _something._

A flicker of disappointment at not being able to act out the role he was supposed to play, even though that was merely a stripe of Goro’s cognition.

A band-aid over a gaping wound that was never supposed to properly cover it up in the first place. Forced to adorn a different kind of mask that had been as addictive as it was destructive.

Maybe even sadness. Melancholy, nostalgia as he thrives through more halls, remembering how full it once was. The eerie quietness in his theater is only alleviated by the heavy sound of his boots clicking against the marble floors and the monsters still crawling all around him.

Until _those_ are gone, some things will still have to happen.

He doesn't feel anything of that.

All Shadow Akechi feels is calm acceptance as he waits for the last pieces to fall into their place. It's strange not have his thoughts circle around Akira and Akira and Akira again and again in red and black and blue and mostly red all over.

He almost feels empty at times, the gnawing voracity having become _bearable_ in some sort of perverse way, retracting towards its origin day by day despite his initial fears of everything only becoming worse, enabling him to move and breathe without feeling like he'll split in half every second.

It's why he's able to eye the state of his theater with longing, but patience as well, more than what he would have been able to accumulate before.

Akira missing in the palace has never been an issue – not in the beginning when Goro’s desires hadn’t changed just yet, not when they _did_ because at that point in time the blue had overtaken enough of the theater that it wasn’t just Goro’s cognition anymore.

But since Akira doesn't honestly know he's become the center of Goro's world – he can still leave.

Then again, Shadow Akechi thinks – Metaverse logic is already inconsistent enough, considering Goro’s theater was able to materialize. It’s hard to narrow unpredictability and whimsical nature despite already given parameters down to one possibility.

Akira probably never realized the other changes before, consciously averted his eyes and thoughts each time they ventured into that direction in fear of what it could possibly mean.

However, the preparation the theater is currently going through is most likely a sign that Akira is not only beginning to recognize what he's been trying to blend out in favor of clinging to the sliver of hope dangling from the ceiling like Damocles' sword but is also in the process of accepting it.

Well, Shadow Akechi thinks. Goro certainly works at a slow, maddening pace, but it’s rather effective once the results of it set each other off like a chain reaction.

Through his vague connection with his counterpart – like watered down feelings splashing lukewarmly over him, a _mockery,_ a poor imitation of what he could have, scrubbing over injuries that are slowly closing, but it's fine, it doesn't hurt as much as before –, Shadow Akechi gets a general impression on what his counterpart is achieving in this very moments.

A part of him is filled with bitter, petty jealousy. That, he'll most likely never get rid of. But Shadow Akechi can look past it for once because he's right _here,_ in the middle of what he knows will turn out into something far greater than anything he could possibly come up with right now, witnessing what he'll become part of with his own eyes.

Goro could never dream of that.

The theater is restless, blue flashing and pulsating in bursting intervals, and Shadow Akechi sees its want to breach and break out. It can't, not yet, but it's starting to prepare itself for that event, ready to reshape everything once the final command is given.

Even he himself is unsure how the theater will react once Akira's origin for one fully merged with it. It could end disastrous, it could be cathartic, it could become everything at once or eradicate all.

He doesn't know, and Shadow Akechi is aware that humans fear the unknown because they can’t put a name to it. Can't tell what's going to happen, too many possibilities to limit it to just one.

They always want to _know_ so they can prevent the worst outcome, and work for the best.

Shadow Akechi is just going to let it happen because he doesn’t have that much of an influence anyway. He’s become a silent bystander, merely watching everything unfold until the moment he's needed one last time.

And while this palace is settling into its intermediate stage before the final one, Shadow Akechi can't risk anything possibly influencing or interrupting that while everything is still so fragile.

Maybe it's out of selfish reasons, too. Shadow Akechi is at the closest thing he can get to salvation, and _no one_ will take that away from him.

Goro may have taken his life and purpose, but Shadow Akechi will choose how to end and surpass it.

If he’s able realize his idea, his _concept…_

...well.

All he knows for sure is that the Phantom Thieves that just now entered his palace are a possible danger to that.

Haven't been before, when they were still trying to make sense out of everything, the display they offered so miserable that Shadow Akechi couldn't even find it in himself to be entertained at the sight of thieves going head to head with the monsters of this place.

Granted, they've become better. Considerably so, their teamwork having moved to a whole new level that it’s almost pitiful how only the absence of their supposedly two closest people pushed them to this kind of power.

Shadow Akechi lets the thieves fight for a little while, choosing to observe their dynamic as a group once more.

They aren't as versatile as before, the literal foundation of what makes their group missing (Joker being able to switch through personas to exploit weaknesses and cover vulnerabilities), but Nijima did a decent job at pulling what was left together, even if it was with bared teeth and bloody knuckles.

(Sakura is missing, Shadow Akechi absentmindedly notes as he continues to observe how they fight their way through the palace. He wonders what happened to her that she didn't participate in this act of pitiful desperation.

Do they know what happened on the surface to Goro and Akira? They all seem restless, but not enough that Shadow Akechi thinks they do _._ There’s the possibility that Sakura might have gotten glimpses of whatever is happening inside reality. Or seen it fully, he doesn’t know – but it could have shocked her regardless.

Ripped all of her feeble hopes and beliefs away, crushed her spirit over and over until she was unable to get even a word out, the _processing_ of everything already demanding more than she could give – well.

Whatever it is, Shadow Akechi doesn’t care too much.)

Nijima is - quite the sight, he has to admit. The others don't notice it or just chose to ignore it out of goodwill like they ignored the struggling of his precious dove, but she's visibly exhausted and overall _tired._ Still, Nijima hits the hardest out of everyone, moves with a desperation that can't be accounted to her motivation to free Akira only.

Shadow Akechi knows Goro has been texting her – innocent, small messages at first, but he has little doubt they grew more vicious over time while maintaining a deceivingly polite nature. Shadow Akechi could figure out what exactly he's been sending her, but it'll probably be more fun to just witness it unravel, to see the boulder moving steadily towards its crashing destination.

Goro's influence is visible, though, clings to Nijima like a rotten veil, and Shadow Akechi wonders if Nijima is stupid enough to _not_ share what she’s going through with the rest of the group (a possible scenario, especially with the burden of a _lead_ role on her). Actually, he likes that notion so much he won’t continue other train of thoughts. It’s obvious that while the Phantom Thieves have been seemingly getting closer each-other, all they've done is falling further apart.

No Akira to stitch them together.

And – ah, Sakamoto.

Now, this one is interesting.

Shadow Akechi doesn't need to physically see him to feel original Loki's power vibrating from him in the most subtle of ways. He's certainly a bit stronger than everyone else around him, although his true potential is still locked away through weeks of experimentation from Goro’s side. Only a certain type of magic would beckon it forth.

The Phantom Thieves must have already fought by Sakamoto’s side prior entering this palace, or otherwise Shadow Akechi would have raised an eyebrow at their antics of only sparsely staring at Sakamoto once in a while when he's fighting along them with unnatural ease.

An ease he shouldn't have after having being gone for such a long time.

Shadow Akechi grins as he entertains a few thoughts – would Goro make Sakamoto go berserk when he'd reveal the treasure at last? Keep what he's done with Sakamoto hidden until the last minute, only to dramatically let it climax into a single moment? Shadow Akechi and Goro do share similarities, after all. Or let the blond go against his own teammates early on, attacking them like a mad animal so neither Goro or Akira would have to bother dealing with the thieves?

As entertaining as these thoughts are, Shadow Akechi can't dwell much longer on them, considering how fast the splintered Phantom Thieves are advancing.

They've almost cleared the first floor from monsters again. Within only ten minutes, actually – the task took them _hours_ at the very start, and they would have probably done it in five minutes now if they weren’t so busy staring at the unstable blue once in a while only to break out in unfruitful discussions.

However, Shadow Akechi can't let them get closer to the heart of this palace if he wants everything to go smoothly. He'd be damned if he let's a meager group of mice threaten the salvation that's within arm reach.

So Shadow Akechi swoops down from above the second they enter a large lobby with a geometrical fountain in front of blue stairs, reveling in the surprised gasps he gets.

"Akechi?!"

"No," Nijima growls, going into a defensive position as she notices is white attire.

"It's his Shadow, meaning bringing Ryuji did make something happen. Or Futaba was-" She falters for the shortest of second, as if remembering something, but then she's back to serious and confident before her resolve could weaken.

So Sakura told them _something,_ but not all? Interesting.

Nijima already casted a Marakukaja, followed by Yusuke's Masukukaja only a second later – a good tactic to prepare even before the initial battle.

They sprawl out to surround Shadow Akechi in a half circle, meaning he’d have a harder time to focus a single person down without leaving some parts of him open and having to resort to area of effect attack that possess less accuracy than single target ones. 

He's mildly impressed - as they are right now, determination vivid in each of their faces, not concealed, but rather encouraged by their masks, they might stand a realistic chance against Goro.

Shadow Akechi is just not sure if they'd be able to hold their ground against Akira as well.

Bowing mockingly, Shadow Akechi smirks towards the ground. "I'm truly honored that you decided to grace me with your presence, thieves."

"More like _you_ finally decided to show up after hiding so long," he hears Nijima press out. 

Such bitterness in her heart, tainting her blood from within. 

Shadow Akechi straightens as he chuckles lowly. He lets his gaze leisurely travel over the group. The Phantom Thieves all look so tense and undeniably stressed that Shadow Akechi can't suppress a pitiful sigh.

His fingers itch towards the handle of his sword in the need to give them more of a physical reason for their state of rigidness.

"Where's Joker?" Takamaki demands in a steady, unwavering tone, brandishing the whip beside her.

"Not here," Shadow Akechi chirps, enjoying the way the answer visibly ticks them off, a chorus of protest and cries emerging, which he greedily absorbs.

"Don't give me that bullshit," Nijima shouts. She summons Johanna, grip on the handle of her persona nearly murderous. Shadow Akechi can practically feel how badly she wants to strangle him with her bare hands. "What have you done to him?"

Shadow Akechi points towards himself. The grin appears back on his face in a flash, haunting and wide. "Me? I've _never_ done anything to him without his permission."

It's true. He's always had to follow Goro's demands.

“Don’t believe what he’s saying,” Morgana shouts, and oh, he’s almost forgotten about that silly, little cat.

Shadow Akechi is reminded _why_ the moment he processes his words. Demanding answers yet accusing him of dishonesty?

How typical.

"As if Joker would give you fucking permission for anything!" Sakamoto growls. He, too, summons his persona, the pirate's cannon arm already charging with a spell. The rest of the group follows suit, making their respective hearts manifest behind them, each waiting for a command.

Shadow Akechi can only laugh, basking in their twisted attention.

They should have attacked him the moment they _felt_ his presence. _While_ he’d been jumping down, the thieves should have tried killing him mid-air.

But like the protagonists of cheesy novels and movies, they _always_ have to talk first and demand answers to questions they could solve themselves if they’d care enough.

God, they talk way too fucking much.

Shadow Akechi would really like to kill them all (he’s feeling especially murderous towards them today, for reasons he cannot fathom – did Goro’s perception of them worsen even further at some point?), but that's not what he or Goro wants, and realistically speaking, the Shadow would have a much harder time doing that than before.

The threatening aura around Shadow Akechi remains, makes them take an involuntarily step back as he releases parts of it, but his _actual_ power is steadily seeping into his future and beyond his reach.

Not much remains for him here, but it's enough to force a palace exit as soon as he gets bored of them.

"He most likely means the real Akechi," Nijima mutters. Then adds in a louder voice, "tell us what we want to know! Why weren't we able to find you? What did you _do_ to him!"

Shadow Akechi can't help the flare of irritation surging through him. Death is still the ultimate form of beauty and purification that could exist with no synonym to match it – he’d love to make the thieves _pretty_ for once. Give them the only value they'd ever have in their life in their last screams of agony.

"What _we_ did to him?" Shadow Akechi frostily asks, dropping his smile. "Shouldn't I be the one to ask that question?"

Nijima recoils a little. Comes back angrier, light blue nuclear energy flaring around her in threatening pulses.

Oh, did he hit a nerve?

"Don't talk like you're doing him some kind of favor with this," she hisses back.

"But I _am._ "

Her Mafreidyne is predictable, even if it covers almost the whole lobby, vaporizing tables and stools and the whole fountain in the progress. Shadow Akechi jumps high to evade the brute force of it, summons Loki, and proceeds to stand on its outstretched hand as the rest of the magic dispels beneath him.

No follow up attacks. With how each head had swiveled towards Nijima, it seems like it was an uncoordinated attack – or reaction. _Still_ not able to predict each-others movements after everything?

When the thieves train their attention back to him (it had been foolish of them to leave him out of their sight in the first place – god, how did they _not_ die until now?), he can almost grasp the surprise in their eyes.

"His outfit! And... eyes, too!"

"Weren't- weren't they always like that?"

Oh, that's right. They've never seen him change into the form that Goro always _expected_ to see in a palace ruler – vicious, golden eyes belonging to a shadow rather than a simple cognition, midnight cloak instead of purity draped around him.

"Akira is where he belongs," Shadow Akechi finally says, crossing his arms over the black material of his uniform and looking down on them from his higher position. Loki rumbles in agreement, lets out a hacked chuckle that bounces off the blue walls.

He lets his voice take on a darker tone, not bothering to hide the repulsion he feels.

"You're mongrels that do not know their place until they're made to grovel on the ground. Nothing but insects about to be crushed under a booth. I could never fathom what Akira ever saw in you."

"I don't know what he ever saw in _you_ !" Sakamoto shouts. "All you've ever done is hurt him. He trailed after you like a lovesick puppy for all these _months,_ only for you to do _this._ You really are beyond help if you still think _you're_ the good guy."

"Bad and good is about the most subjective thing to exist in this world," Shadow Akechi lazily drawls.

He's beginning to grow impatient – there's no room to argue with their stupidly thick heads, and the only one that would most likely contribute in a somewhat interesting way isn’t here.

"But it's not like you'd understand anything about that. You even fail to acknowledge the simplest things when they run straight under your nose. It's as pitiful as it is irritating." He laughs, revels in the confused anger that greets him, in the _guilt_ he sees in parts of their eyes. Still so shy after all that happened.

If their conscience has finally begun awakening from its long sleep, then why are they here? Why are they still standing in the very palace that's changing so obviously into a direction that will not favor them?

"Do you really hope you can get Joker- no, Akira back? Do you really believe he'll be the same, lenient person as he was before, the same shoulder to lean and cry on? Such naïve minds you have. I almost envy you for it. We've been showing him what it means to be free. From the shackles of society, the shackles _your_ supposed friendship put on him. There is no going back from that."

They're shouting at him now, an incoherent and overlapping mess Shadow Akechi doesn’t bother listening to. In silent coordination, he jumps off of Loki’s claws, momentarily taking in the mostly superficial destruction Nijima’s skill left behind.

The spell potency in the air is already at admirable levels - all of their agitated magic is flowing around them like a torrent that'll swallow everyone who isn’t strong enough.

"I've had enough of this," Shadow Akechi murmurs, concentrating the energy he has left in his personas that would enable him to force them back to the entrance.

"Loki," Shadow Akechi says, despite not needing to, but he does want to put on a little show, have them dangling from his fingertips just a little longer when he still can. "Robin."

He drinks in the sight of their wide eyes as they see his second persona appear behind him, proudly flashing his coat and bow.

"Megidolaon."

Everything goes white.

Shadow Akechi loses parts of himself here, too, but it's alright.

It's starting to hurt less and less.

###  December 23rd, Friday

Goro picks up the ringing phone fast enough for the head on his chest to stir a bit before it stills, motionless again.

The only matter that prevents his mood from dropping after seeing the contact name is Akira snuggled against him, and Goro sighs, relenting himself to his fate. He can't exactly stand up (nor does he want to) with half of Akira's weight on him like this, so he holds it close against his left ear that’s furthest from Akira, clearing his throat before he answers in a low voice.

He's dully aware of a slight throbbing in his body, most likely the bruises the fight earned him yesterday.

_"Did I just… woke you up? You're usually up by this time."_

"You didn't," Goro lies, squeezing the one arm trapped underneath Akira out, only to lower it onto his black hair to card through it, further lulling Akira into staying asleep. Though for all he knows, Akira might already be awake – he doesn't flinch or shy away from his touches anymore that would indicate it.

Goro takes a moment to collect himself and continues where he broke off. "I've merely caught a slight cold, hence the reason why I will not strain my voice as much."

 _"Winter is coming along after all,"_ Shido agrees with audible disinterest. To Goro's satisfaction, there's an edge to his tone, giving his usually condescending voice a strange effect he can't quite pinpoint but knows where it comes from anyway. 

_"Make sure you recover. I don't need a useless dog moping around with sickness. I might have won prime minister, but there's still a bit to be done before anyone can take a break."_

Goro laughs inwardly.

Shido should have killed him the moment he won the election. Goro can't say he didn't expect such an outcome, but he would have taken a different course of actions and preparation if Akira had been unable for whatever reason to come clear Shido's palace with him.

It's a scenario he no longer needs to prepare for, because Akira _had been_ willing and this phone call is most likely the very proof for the progress they've already gotten done inside Shido's ship.

Goro's ability to traverse the Metaverse is as dangerous as it is useful, but as long as Shido feels threatened by the Metaverse in some way and _still_ thinks Goro to be his willing puppet dancing by his strings only, he'll squeeze every last drop out of Goro until he disposes of him.

He _can’t_ get rid of Goro now if he still feels like there’s something going to topple his ship over in a reality beyond his control.

Goro already knows why Shido called, can't help the smirk dancing on his lips as he consciously basks in the warmth of Akira.

"I won't." Goro stops when Akira makes a soft, muffled voice, nuzzling a little into his chest. His heart skips a beat before he gets a grip on himself.

"The media outlet is buzzing with excitement for Prime Minister Shido's election," Goro says as politely yet intently as he can. "The public loves you too."

 _"We've only made it this far thanks to you,"_ Shido answers with fake generosity. He says it in a way that implies he's convinced of the total opposite and only admits it because he wants to give his lapdog a treat once in a while.

Goro bites his lips, focuses on how silky Akira’s hair feels, wrapped around his finger in tantalizing curls. "I'm honored to hear that. That would bring me onto another matter, if you don’t mind.”

Shido grunts and he takes it as his cue to continue. "I heard you were going to have a… Christmas speech? Not exactly common in Japan. Is there a… particular reason for it?"

 _"I'm expected to hold a New Year's speech, but I wanted to do one for Christmas as well,"_ Shido explains in an almost bored tone.

Goro can practically see him filing his nails while telling him about his grand plans, wondering why Goro was dumb enough to question it in the first place.

_"Christmas makes for a lot of additional sentiments, and introducing a hearty, joyous speech the first time in eight years will only make another profound foundation for the continuous and guaranteed support. By the end of December, it'll have solidified by election completely."_

Goro hums absentmindedly. "Of course. Thank you for enlightening me."

Akira’s hair is remarkably soft in the morning, easy to card through despite how messy it seems to appear. It’s the first realization Goro committed to memory the first time he woke up with Akira in his arms back in the theater.

Back then he used to tense up, tried his best to resist. 

_"Now then... I have a favor to ask of you."_

Goro actually _is_ a bit taken aback due to the almost awkward tone Shido adapts, clearly unused to sentences that aren’t condescending or demanding. Goro clears his throat a little, dips his voice into a fine balance between uncertainty and intrigue.

"What might that be?"

 _"It's about the loyal customers of our mental shutdown business,"_ Shido admits, tone pressed in a way Goro hadn't witnessed before, too.

He can't resist the curl of his toes. It's really _working._

_"How about you dispose of all the ones you think suspicious?"_

It's so, so hard to not _tell_ Shido the fact that he's soon going to march into his office and pay him back for all he's ever done in his life very soon. Akira having consciously willingly snuggled up against him makes the notion so much sweeter, and it takes all of Goro's self-control to not let the grin of _joy_ on his face influence his next sentences.

"Right at the moment? We've just got through the election."

There's a bit of shuffling, a barely suppressed sigh on the other line. _"_

_Correct. I didn't want to risk it before, but now seems to be the perfect time."_

"Why so suddenly...? Did something happen?" Goro asks, hushed but hurried.

_"Nothing in particular."_

The way Shido says it makes it blatantly obvious something _did_ happen, and Goro's chest rumbles with an inaudible chuckle that has Akira re-adjusting, arm around Goro's waist a bit tighter, head closer to his throat than before as he scoots up, using Goro's legs to push himself up.

How precious.

 _"...But if something were to happen,"_ Shido admits in a haughty, unwilling tone, _"it would already be too late."_

Goro thinks about what he would have said if he weren't the one tearing gold and false masks on a ship apart, as if they didn't rip the invitation from the IT chief's bloody hands just recently.

"I can understand why you might be nervous, but why not stay calm and hold off until the buzz is over?"

_"I'd like to take out all of the trash while my inauguration as a prime minister of this nation. It will be less suspicious that way because no one would connect anything to me if I just rose to power, my position temporarily unstable. And for the sake of absolute victory, I need all roots of anxiety to be pulled as soon as they make themselves known."_

_Anxiety_.

The great Shido indirectly admitting to actually be concerned, perhaps even afraid of something. 

It's a beautiful turn of events, and Goro can't get enough of it, wants to see it evolve into despair and _fear._ How wonderfully his father would tremble under the glinting maw of the same gun Shido gave him, how Akira would watch and nuzzle into Goro's neck while he’d press the trigger.

Realization overcoming him in the last seconds of his pathetic life.

"Anxiety...?" Goro repeats nervously. "You've never mentioned such things before now... Um, Shido-san?"

_"Hmpf."_

Silence takes reign for a few seconds where Shido is audibly trying to school his uneasiness into something more prime minister worthy. Goro busies himself by enjoying almost purring-like noises escaping Akira’s throat as he drags his fingers across his scalp.

A face holds everything, Goro thinks. It's why it's his favorite place to touch and cradle because it contains the brilliance of all that Akira is inside. He doesn't believe he can ever get tired of admiring it, appreciating sharp angles and gentle slopes by letting his fingers brush over them, only to thumb the soft skin beneath those expressive, beautiful eyes of Akira that hold an entire world for him to explore.

So easy to destroy, too.

Goro just barely holds himself off of digging his fingers a bit more intently into Akira's soft (marked, bruised) skin out of instinct when Shido's voice interrupts the silence, unreasonably louder and agitated than before.

_"Do you understand what it means to cross me!?"_

Realizing it was probably a bit too harsh to be normal, Shido sighs resignedly. _"Just do as I ask. I'll be counting on you."_

Before Goro can retort anything, Shido hangs up.

Usually he'd scoff, less about the fact that Shido never bothers saying goodbye, but more about the other’s ignorance and misplaced confidence that will aid into his downfall.

All Goro feels right now is inexplicable excitement on what is to come.

The noises of content next to him stops.

Goro puts his phone away and shifts his head a little to look down. He doesn't stop his fingers though, waits for Akira to say what he wants to.

It’s obvious he’s been listening for a while, but Goro doesn’t mind, feels vague pride that Akira had stayed completely relaxed through the entirety of the conversation.

Akira distances himself a little now that both are aware of his state of awareness, pulls his arm from Goro's mid-section to himself that nearly has Goro reaching out to prevent that, but Akira lets his head stay on his chest so he doesn't.

"How are you feeling?" Goro softly asks.

"...fine, actually," Akira murmurs, voice impossibly low in the morning, but grounding Goro with its content. "Better than I probably should, considering what happened."

His one cheek is still a little swollen, an unflattering shade of purplish red. He'll have to heal it as soon as they're in the Metaverse – they were a bit too preoccupied to think of that yesterday.

Goro raises an eyebrow in time for Akira to lift up his head, looking up to him through a curtain of pretty eyelashes. He lowers his hand from Akira's scalp to his nape, squeezing once.

Once a threat and a reminder, now simple encouragement, reassurance.

Akira's eyes melt a little, and Goro smiles.

"Don't doubt yourself. I feel good, too. You being here makes me happy."

Akira blinks at him, then blushes before hiding it by pressing his cheek against Goro's chest again, turning his head into the other direction. Goro lets him but doesn't suppress his amused chuckle.

A while passes, neither of them saying anything. Goro is fine basking in the warmth the other radiates, hyper-aware of each part of their body that touches, trying to commit this feeling to memory so he can recall it whenever he wants to.

"Your call,” Akira suddenly says, voice raspy. Shifts a little, and Goro wants to look at him, but Akira’s still facing away from him. “It was Shido, right? His voice is… even worse in reality. Condescending and talking so nonchalantly about life."

Akira's hand clench.

Goro doesn't remind him that he himself is no different.

Akira has never outrightly mentioned it, but Goro sees him reacting to the megaphones on the ship, the voice that blares with unyielding effort and ignorance through the halls that give even hardened Goro a remaining head-ache for the next few hours after leaving the palace.

Akira would grab his head most of the time, wincing, sound penetrative enough that it even distracted him at battle in times, but whenever Goro asked, he'd always say there's something he feels like he should remember but can't.

Goro hated to let it go, but it was clear that there was not too much to dig up on that with the little info they had.

It's still undeniable proof that there is some kind of connection between him, Shido and Akira, but for all the time he had spent thinking about it, he never came to a profound conclusion.

The probation.

Goro furrows his eyebrows. That'd be...

Akira got reported for assaulting someone, that he already knows. The details of his file's details weren't something Goro could access with his authority when he wasn't assigned to the case itself, but he can't imagine Akira going out of his way to actively hurt someone, especially before the Phantom Thieves were even formed. And even if Shido did play somehow into it all, it'd be too much of a coincidence.

And yet, the mere thought of his father being involved in ruining parts of Akira's life coaxes the same madness forth Goro always unleashes in the Metaverse, but if it ultimately was the reason why Akira got send into Goro's arms... it may be yet another sign that fate has tangled their ends together, that Akira belongs to him just like Goro belongs to Akira.

"Do you know if he hurt you?" Goro finds himself saying.

He tries to keep the darkness at bay, but he must not be doing an excellent job on that when Akira gently places his hand on Goro's hip to calm him. The simple touch sense a wave of calmness over him. 

"I'm... not sure."

Akira's eyelashes flutter against his cheek as he lowers his gaze, staring invisible patterns into the bared skin of Goro's upper chest. There are a few darker bruises there, too, made by him. 

"Maybe. I honestly can't tell."

Akira exhales forcefully, doesn't flinch when Goro's fingers on his neck momentarily tighten at the thought of someone hurting him.

Of his _father_ hurting him.

Goro closes his eyes.

The sun is still filtered due to the blinds, and without his visual sense, he's aware on what parts of his body they shine, warming him even through the blanket. Nothing can compare to Akira, though, laying on parts of his body, a steady, safe presence by his side, filling so much more space than Goro ever hoped to receive.

"Shido hurt _me,"_ Goro mumbles.

He feels Akira’s hand on his hip twitch before it slides up to come to rest on the place where a forgotten heart beat in its cage. He also feels his soft hair tickling him as Akira turns his head again.

What would reflect in those gray eyes now if he were to open his eyes?

_"Goro..."_

Akira has given him so much already. Goro can hear the compassion in his voice, feel it seep into him – not pity, but something softer, something less judging. It's about time Goro gives some parts of himself back and shares one of the many reasons he wants to see the world burn.

"I've never… told you, but for the most part of my life, I grew up in an orphanage," Goro starts. He opens his eyes and meets large, _receiving_ ones.

He can't help but cradle Akira's uninjured cheek, even if the angle is a bit inconvenient. The half-lidded, mellow look Goro gets already makes up for it. "My mother died early, only a year or so after I obtained the ability to commit things to memory."

He remembers fleeting bits. Not many, but those are the ones he treasures alongside his feelings for Akira.

Her gentleness whenever she patted him on his head, congratulating him for catching the evil villains hiding under furniture in their small apartment. How she comforted him when somebody stole his toy ray gun at elementary school, and how she immediately bought him a new one despite Goro's protests – they weren't able to afford much back then, and he knows his mom must have exerted her body even more to afford nice, little extra things.

Her warm, comforting smell that would engulf him whenever she bent down to hug him, only to scoop him into her arms, smiling with such a genuine expression that he realy believed her whenever she said that it was going to be alright, that the trickle of men flocking to her house in the evening would get less and less over time.

Back then, he'd only complained that his skin was already raw from bathing practically every single night in the bathhouse – but she'd just shush him, tell him he could only warm his feet or wash his hair if he didn't want to fully use it.

Goro remembers looking at her as if she was the smartest person on earth – he always thought he'd _have_ to use all the bathhouse had to offer if she gave him the money for it every time because anything else would have surely been a waste.

He isn't able to recall much more, the rest floating somewhere in the back of his mind where they create more of an impression rather than something steady.

But it's always been the only light in all the darkness Goro willingly let himself be consumed by that brought him back each time, made him remember why he was getting his hands so bloody in the first place, subjecting himself to Shido's abhorrent presence for years with only a promise to balance him. 

Goro would tell him about all of those memories, at some point. He knows Akira will receive them with an expression that would not tell Goro how sorry he is, but how glad he feels that she was one of the only good things that happened in life. Perhaps even how _strong_ it made him. 

Right now, Akira really does look like he wants to know more, but it’s clear he doesn’t want to pressure him, lets Goro only say what he wants to.

Goro thinks it's impossible for him to feel even… _more,_ but he does, and it's why he's able to say the next words, too.

Right now, thinking of Shido, Goro feels like he’s able to grab the resentment for this man directly from his heart, manifest it for Akira to _see_ that whatever abhorrence his hands would be holding then belongs dead.

“Shido… is the reason why my mother died. She never showed it and I was too young to really understand why she cried at night, but under the weight of having me and sustaining herself without his aid… she just broke away one day. Committed suicide in the seemingly most random moment.” He gives an empty laugh. “Then again, I doubt there was a proper _time_ for it. It’s why I can’t forgive him. And the notion of such a horrible, disgusting human being hurting you, too… I can’t explain how much I want to break each bone in his body.”

Akira doesn't look perturbed at his confession. If possible, his eyes grow even gentler. Moves his hand higher so that they're drawing mindless patterns on the soft expanse of flesh between Goro's collar bones.

"He's horrible for making you go through all of that," Akira whispers against his skin. 

Horrible doesn't even describe the man, but he already spent too much time thinking about him. 

“I wasn’t lying when I said I care for you,” Goro murmurs. “Do you want me to proof again why, even though you already know?”

Goro grabs Akira’s hand with his free one. Lifts it up and turns it to press a fleeting kiss on the inside of his wrist. A soft blush paints Akira’s face, but Goro merely moves his own fingers to Akira’s chin to watch the sea of flushed pink expand fully.

The sight helps him calm down a little.

“The public doesn’t know about this specifically, but… over the last months, the police has begun using increasingly violent methods against suspects to get them to confess. Similarly, like Sae’s method, it doesn’t matter if you did it or not. As long as you’re in there, you’re guilty. And they make sure to keep you there – I can’t tell you how many times I’ve seen beat up people leave interrogation rooms, barely coherent. And nobody bats an eyelash at that, you know?”

Goro keeps his hand around Akira's wrist but lowers it to where his heart lays again – fingers splayed over Akira's, both feeling the dark passion separated by fragile layers of skin and flesh and bones.

The soft morning air gets a bit chillier as Goro's eyes and tone turns darker, remembering all the images that flash inside of his head whenever he enters the diet building or a similar establishment of supposed _justice._

All a lie until he met Akira.

“To make the matter even worse, they rely on drugs, too. _Dangerous_ drugs that not only make you delusional, but could also permanently damage you. Not to mention the overdose. They’re always so careless with the doses, inserting the syringes wherever and forcing people to swallow more pills than the recommended amount. Most often than not it makes the victims forget who they are, too. Some don’t even recover from the memory loss. No one says anything because of the money keeping people’s mouth shut. And I can safely tell you – they would have used the same thing on you.”

Goro _feels_ Akira flinch, and he’s momentarily pulled out of his monologue by that reaction. The spreading darkness inside of him momentarily stills, grows warmer, enabling Goro to pull Akira closer than before, to demonstrate that Akira is _safe_ within his arms.

That none of what he says will actually happen.

Akira grows lax again, tentatively laying his head into the crook of Goro’s neck.

Goro waits for his repulsion towards what he's about to say to settle into something manageable before he continues. "And the thought of – the _thought_ of you in that interrogation room, at the police mercy before I could get to you myself. You don't know how much it _pains_ me."

So much that Goro wants to pull out the fingernails of the men who would have dared touching his Akira.

Remove their teeth one by one, slice the muscle that keeps their mouth closed, only to grab their head and brutally drag it across the rough floor afterwards. Face first, of course, so he could bring them the _maximum pain._ Mockingly point out the trail of blood they’d leave, adding more onto it the moment he’d grow impatient and just plunge his bare hand into their rib-cage, destroying everything in his path with wicked glee right in front of their milky eyes.

Not that he could physically do the latter without a knife or his Metaverse gauntlets, but it’s still a nice thought.

And how Goro would _bathe_ in each desperate sound they make, in each pathetic beg and incoherent words that would fall past a mangled mouth, _begging_ to stop, and he’d smile with closed eyes in the knowledge that he won't.

Nobody hurts Akira (except him, maybe), but especially not in such fucking underhanded ways.

Earned battle wounds he could maybe understand to an extend – wouldn’t save them from death, either, but at least it would be much more painless than what he’ll do to people who are too much of a coward to face another person head on, much less a shackled, incapacitated person.

“I would have taken my dear time on killing them. And even if I got in early, prevented them from laying a hand on you – I would have still done the same thing, simply because I know they _wanted_ to subject you to something so inhuman,” Goro says, looking Akira in the eyes with the most serious expression he could muster.

The other is visibly trying to progress the information, shaking his head as a disturbed look enters his eyes. “How does no one know of this? I knew about the corruption running deep inside the police, but this is….”

"I didn't know when I got my position as a detective, too," Goro truthfully says.

It only amplified his thirst for revenge though, gave him even more of a reason to pull through.

The hate has already dissipated at parts with how at _ease_ Akira looks despite Goro telling him all about it, like he already expected it.

“This society supports it,” Goro murmurs, tasting the words in his mouth, taking them apart for what they’re worth. “Shido supports it. It’s not enough that he destroyed my mother’s life as well, he has to destroy countless of other lives, too. Shido possesses connections to the police and is so interwoven with them that I can’t speak against a superior without disobeying his orders. He not only killed my mother, he’s essentially worsened _everything_. The country will meet ruin if we don’t stop him.”

Goro wants to create ruin, too, but not in the way Shido does.

Akira looks at him for a long, long time. He lets his cheek drop on Goro's chest again, and Goro slides his hand from his cheek to Akira's shoulder.

There's carded muscle beneath the pads of his fingers, strained from months of practice and tension and _burdens_ Goro is going to lift. He starts kneading it a little, and Akira sags even further into him as he continues to work bits and bits of his resolve away.

“Is-” Akira clears his throat, sighing a little when Goro works on a particularly tense knot. A variety of emotions flash through gray eyes, too fast to read. “Is Shido… is he responsible for all this anger in your heart?”

Akira presses the hand on Goro's chest down, still trapped under Goro's own.

"Partially, but he is the root to it all."

They don't say anything for a while, the room filled with words and thoughts both of them have trouble expressing. Goro works through the silence by keeping his fingers busy working the tense muscle of Akira's neck away.

In a way, Goro feels strangely vulnerable, too.

It's a sensation he hasn't felt for a long, long time, but it feels less unsettling and horrible than when he'd seen his mother's corpse in the bathtub, less _weakening_ than when he'd accidentally triggered the Metaverse for the first time in his life, helplessly watching a Shadow tear through his stomach until Loki burst through Goro's skin, manifesting in a rush of chaos and anger.

"Tell me," Akira murmurs softly after an inexplicable amount of time, closing his eyes. Goro feels a bit light-headed at his gentle demand, at the imagery of long eyelashes resting on top of pale cheeks. A picture of innocence, if not for the bruises staining his cheek and marks littering his throat, wandering down.

Goro hasn't checked yet, but he's sure he's sporting similar ones.

“Tell me your reasons, Goro. Reasons that aren’t me. Why do you hate the world? What caused so much pain during and after Shido that you want to set fire to it, too...?”

Goro smiles.

Akira has trailed off towards the end, either not finding the right words to properly articulate what he's trying to say or simply unable to convey what he means.

He thinks he understands what Akira wants to say anyway.

And it's hard to put a term to what's been driving him to do all of this when it's so grand yet so insignificant at the same time. It holds a meaning incomparable to him, something only Goro would get. He could try sharing it with others, but they'd never even comprehend the general idea for it, never reach past the surface and see the essence of it.

Akira, however, is different. Has always been, so much purer than all the ugliness that paints the world in horrendous colors, so much more responsive and _aware._

"I simply hate it," Goro starts, in a neutral tone. "This system of society, judging everybody by your appearance and achievements. Having to _adapt_ to their standards and expectations because otherwise you can't function and live. We may not be aware of it, but each one of us wears a mask all the time. When it's with your parents, when it's with your friend or classmates. Anyone."

Akira hums, opening one eye.

"Do you wear a mask right now?"

"I try not to when it's around you," he answers truthfully. “I won’t deny that there are times when it still happens, but it’s… incredibly hard to let all the walls I’ve built up over the years simply fall down. Even with you.”

Akira, if anything, looks understanding, and Goro takes a few breaths to steady himself. 

He's aware and in harmony with his convictions, but it's still odd to share them with someone.

To open himself, to be emotionally unstable.

Easy to topple if Akira wants to.

"It's... one of the things I want to achieve. A future where I don't need to project onto myself what _others_ want. Or rather, where I don't feel the _need_ to."

The anger in Goro’s stomach that usually comes is dulled by the slowness of a morning and Akira's warmth on him, careful and listening, but it still gives his voice a certain edge that sharply cuts through the sun and air with ease.

"I'm sick of everything. Of how they want me to be, how they want me to see. How you always have to constantly adapt to be accepted, no matter how small or large the issue is, simply so that they would _look_ at you.”

He doesn't think Shido ever _looked_ at him.

Goro was only a tool for him that was going to be disposed of the moment it fulfilled its use. 

“They want you to be perfect? Even if you are, that’s not enough. It _never_ is. And they make you feel like it, too."

Goro looks downwards, away from the ceiling, and he sees that Akira has opted to openly meet his gaze.

His gray eyes are almost glowing in the stuttering morning light, shining with something Goro can't quite decipher at the moment when his head is full of justifications that come down to whim anyway.

It's still a heartachingly pretty sight, the slow fluttering of his eyelashes, the lazy way curls artfully drape around his face despite the messy state they are in.

Goro blinks, finding his voice again.

"It's what I saw in you as well. A victim of society, too abused, too _used_ to it to realize it."

Before Akira can protest, Goro shifts, rolls them over so that he's hovering above him, two hands supporting his height on each side of Akira's head.

There's nothing sexual about this position, rather an emotional intimacy in how Goro cages Akira's naked body, heart beating rapidly, yet in a consistent rhythm as he leans closer.

Akira splayed out beneath him, skin carrying memories of both passion and hate – it's a sight that burns itself into his mind.

"I hated you, but I've realized that you were not too different from me."

Goro gives a brisk laugh, remembering how blind he'd been until he saw Joker pulling up a gun, demanding for _more,_ the Phantom Thieves in shock while he had only watched with something akin to fascination.

"Uncannily alike, actually. The difference is just that I consciously played along with it, while you were still hopelessly fluttering in a cage everyone built for you, thinking you belonged."

Akira adjusts his position slightly, his two arms that were previously above his head slowly sliding down, hands twitching when they reach the height of Goro's own hands as if wanting to grab around his wrists.

They don't, but Akira mumbles some words instead. "Two wildcards."

"Two wildcards?"

Akira nods, hair bouncing a little.

He says it with such a causality that Goro finds himself tasting the rather unusual word in his mouth. Remembering one of Akira’s earliest sentences he shared in the theater, Goro tilts his head.

"You've mentioned the term before," he slowly says. Doesn’t like how it sounds almost _uncertain,_ but it’s alright – it’s alright when it’s with _him._

Akira had asked him if he was a wildcard, too. Goro had kept the term diligently inside his head to ask him about it, but it kept sliding off his mind, seemingly unimportant in the scheme of grander things.

He doesn't know _what_ it is, but hearing the term sends a row of shivers down his spine, making him fist the sheets beside Akira's head a bit harder.

It seems a lot more meaningful with the way it rolls over Akira's tongue.

"It's a term... that someone described me with," the other almost shyly admits.

He's obviously vague about it, but Goro doesn't think he needs to get the full context to understand what he's implying.

"When I saw you, especially after learning you could wield a second persona... I thought you were a wildcard, too. Like me. I just didn’t understand the term until recently, I think."

Goro's heart swells with satisfaction at hearing Akira admit one of their many similarities. He quickly connects what Akira omits from his sentence and decides that he rather likes the wording.

It fits them both.

"Two wildcards, standing out of the rooster. The abnormal ones,” Goro mutters, transfixed with how Akira’s eyes _shine._

“People create goals impossibly far ahead of them, but grow mad when others are able to reach it and go beyond. They envy us, hate us, yet cling to us because we are what they want to be. Isn’t it so?"

The silence in the room is palpable, something Goro is sure could be disrupted with only a slight twitch of his limbs. The delicacy of this moment is nearly incomprehensible. Neither of them moves, too caught up in each other's orbits, assessing what the other says with unyielding diligence and picking it apart for what it's worth.

Since Akira remains silent, Goro breathes in, carefully laying out the words in his head.

"I don't want to live up to anyone's reputation or expectations. I don't want them to hold me back. I don't want anything to hinder or influence what I do."

Goro lowers his head and arms, not fully resting his body on Akira's, but resting his head on the other's chest. Pressing his forehead against a heart that beats faster than his own, motion and sound resonating within Goro's skull like a second pulse. 

"I want to be myself, and I want to be more than that," Goro says, slow and almost inaudible, another whisper lost in the endless space around them.

"But I feel like in order to achieve that, I need _him_ to fall first. Granted, I had choices along the way, and I was the one to choose this path – but ultimately, he's my point of conflict, the doubt that made me desperate enough to throw away everything that I could have been. He's the last remnant of what keeps me in the past.

"I can try justifying it however I want – with arguments as to how he cast me aside the moment he knew of my existence, how he never gives a damn fuck about the consequences his escapades bring. The death of my mother. The neglect he made me go through, how I was never able to connect with someone properly until you. How wrong he is, how right I am, and vice versa."

Goro lifts his face again, studies Akira's expression. Not even Akira’s eyes betray what he's thinking in this very moment, but there's an overall gentleness to his face that coaxes the next words out of Goro.

The words crawl out of his throat with an ease that frightens him, and yet he can’t bring himself to stop, not now, not when Akira is looking like he’ll accept it all and not turn away.

"But in the end – does it matter? I'm fed up with everything. And frankly, I stopped caring at some point, too. They didn't for me, so why should I now? I may lie a lot to other people, but I’m neither going to lie to you or myself. A lot of empathy have been lost at some point, and I don't intend to regain it back."

Goro morbidly chuckles. "Do I have a superiority complex and a father complex and thousand other flaws people would like to diagnose me with if they’d bother looking? Maybe. Does it matter in the end when I decide on a whim whether to kill or not? When power is everything you need to change the world that hates, and I have plenty of it at my fingertips? Everything comes down to that."

He can't resist the urge for one of his fingers to trail over the soft expense of Akira's throat. It's soft and marked up, eliciting slight shivers as Goro slightly presses into his favorite colors.

"...a lone tale of vengeance," Akira breathes, and Goro smiles. Leans closer.

He's not alone, not anymore. 

"I want to cleanse some filth of this earth, Akira, and I will start doing so by killing the monster that calls himself my father at the apex of this power. Does that frighten you?"

Goro's head is now directly above Akira's. So many emotions are now racing through Akira's eyes, a whole spectrum Goro doesn't need to take apart to know that they're all directed at him, caused by him. He had not told him a single thing about his mother, about his father before, dropped this entire weight onto Akira in just a few minutes, watching it unravel.

"Does that scare you, Akira? Are you afraid of what I lack? Of what I want to do with you by my side?"

For a long time neither of them says anything. Goro feels flushed with power, his own words resonating within him and only confirming what he wants, what he _needs_ to do. It's the most intimate side he had ever shown, the very strings of thoughts that built Goro up as much as they weigh him down all laid bare.

Until now, all he’s done is take Akira apart to fill it with himself.

In this moment, Goro is willingly baring himself, opening up and giving Akira the dagger that could sink into everything.

"All I ever wanted was to help you," Akira begins to whisper back to him. His voice is still rough from last night, from this morning, shaken to its very core, yet articulated. "There is so much pain in your eyes I wanted to take away."

Goro opens his mouth, but Akira's finger is faster, shushing him. "I think back then it was only due to some sort of… ah, how do I describe it? Coping mechanism? I’m not sure if that’s the right word. I used to look into people’s eyes, listen to their words and knew what they needed. I thought it was just an ability I always had, like how another person would be able to sing better than some world stars at age ten for no reason at all.”

Goro's breath hitches, words stuck in his throat.

“In hindsight, I realize I’m only good at it because I _had_ to make up for something that wasn’t. For my classmates, I attended. For my jobs, I’m employed. For my friends I was there, for my parents I… exist. But did I ever _belong_ anywhere? It feels like the entirety life I wasn’t really… there. I breathed, I ate, I slept, studied at school. It was all so temporary, like there was no real purpose to what I did and I just kept going because my body and everybody else told me to. I tried to make friends, but I think at some point I’ve forgotten how to do that. Maybe I never learned how to. I only- I only know how to listen to them and say what they want to hear. I thought that maybe If I did that, I could fill what I was lacking. If they were spilling their secrets with me, I must be something worth, right? I had a purpose when talking to them, something that filled me with a sense of… just being."

"Akira," Goro says and doesn't know how to continue because all he can take in is how much Akira's eyes burn as he speaks about himself like he's worth nothing.

He feels Akira's finger gliding around his neck, pulling him a bit further down, carefully brushing a few strands behind Goro's ear.

All Goro can do is comply, a helpless marionette to its master's touch.

Akira continues, visibly straining his throat since he's...

Goro's never seen him talking this much, this openly, letting Goro inside of him _again._

"I think the first time I found something I liked waking up to was… when I was with the Phantom Thieves. No, hear me out-" Akira fucking laughs when Goro feels his face distort into something unpretty.

"Hear me out. You’re- you’re right. It was something I got pulled in, it was something I wasn’t fully aware of, what extend our actions had, what it meant to change someone's heart because we thought our own, personal cases were enough for a reason to do that. You helped me realize that."

Akira sighs, looking to the side before he locks gazes with him again.

"But at that time I could only see how it gave me the sense of a bigger purpose, something I could look… forward to. I suddenly had something I was genuinely good at that didn’t feel like it all contributed to nothing, and everybody looked at me and _saw_ me and I felt like I belonged because I had a really noticeable effect. It had been a proof of my existence. 

"I just never realized how _false_ that was, too. That it was just… Joker everybody saw. Something I technically made up _again_ to deal with the Metaverse. Or something that was given to me without my actual consent. And maybe that was why I was clinging so much onto anything by that time. I didn’t want to realize that I had been trying to fill something bottomless since coming here _again,_ that people only saw the _use_ in Joker, but… not anything beneath that.”

“And maybe what I just said isn’t true. Maybe it is, how would I know? It just… kinda spilled out of me, just now. I- I still need to think a lot. But all I know – what I _know_ because I’ve felt it for a while, even right now is that I feel safe. I feel warm. I feel like I can… _be_ with you, Goro, without you judging me for who I am when there’s nothing to make me up. I admit it’s a scary thought, you seeing me without… anything. Just like right now. And yet you don't look away.”

"I never could," Goro breathes. "Not with Joker, but even less with you."

Akira's smile is full of sad gratitude and it _hurts_ so fucking much to hear all of this that Goro can't physically concentrate on anything other than on Akira's voice, even if he wants to. 

“I don’t know what a future with you holds- Wait, that’s naïve for me to say. I think I do, but at the same time I... really don’t. But even that vague outline feels so more tangible than anything else I grasped before, especially with the knowledge that _you_ are there."

"I won't leave you."

_Can't._

Goro wouldn't know what to do without him.

Akira hums, nuzzling his cheek against one of Goro's wrists next to him. He feels like the remaining rest of air just got punched out of him at that simple, small motion.

“You’ve… showed me a lot of things, gave me plenty of stuff to think about. And… I still want to try and alleviate your pain. Not because I have to or feel the need to in order to feel validated, but because I want to. Hearing you say all this… Goro, you’re- you’re hurting so much, have been all this time, and I never realized the extend of it. I’m probably still not grasping everything and you definitely have not told me all there is, but I’ll wait until you will. You’ve been so patient with me, gave me everything, and I've only realized now how much you need this."

"Don't apologize," Goro breathes, still more than overwhelmed about the entire situation. Any other time, he might have ridiculed this for a dream - and yet, as unrealistic as this seems to be, it feels so real.

Like all of his efforts finally paid of, years of grief and hurt and pain going into this single moment where nothing really matters aside the fact that they're alive and together.

"You're... more than I could have ever hoped to have," Goro whispers.

Probably deserved, too. 

But Goro's always been a greedy man beneath his false exterior, barely knowing how to stop.

For a brief moment, Akira looks like he'll decline, reject Goro in some sort of way.

Despite everything Akira said, resignation is found hesitatingly treading murky, gray waters, and for all the words Goro ever said, too – all the declaration of ownership, of possessing Akira, he feels like as if everything would shatter beyond repair if Akira were to reject him now, and he doesn't want to forcefully flick loose ends together that could never fit the same way if they’d merge naturally.

He feels so _small._

Akira traces Goro's bottom lip with a tentative finger.

It feels like Akira is smearing blood across it.

“Will getting rid of Shido help you, Goro? Will it lessen the pain you still hide from me at times?” he mumbles against the sensitive skin of Goro's wrist. 

Kisses it. 

Goro’s mouth has long stopped working, words failing, so he nods. Starts to shake with an emotion he can’t identify because he’s feeling too much at once, all sorts of hot and cold and angry and happy emotions tugging him into every imaginable direction.

Akira pulls him down not for not a kiss, but for the softest of brushes of lips against each-other.

Before Goro knows it, he’s resting his head on Akira’s chest, feeling it fall and raise steadily beneath him.

"Now you’re the one captivated by my spell," Akira jokingly says, so much lighter and out of context to everything that just transpired. 

It doesn’t feel out of place.

It just feels right, and that's enough.

Fingers card through his hair, in a calm, soothing manner, and it’s a sensation Goro hadn’t felt in a long, long time.

He remembers why Akira always melts against him when he does it.

"You’ve never been the prisoner," Goro murmurs, kissing Akira’s heart. “It just took you a while to realize that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Check out[this wonderul piece](https://twitter.com/vaehrmina/status/1329233225085054982) by [@vaehrmina](https://twitter.com/vaehrmina) for her interpretation on what could be! Thank you so much <3!**
> 
> _regarding the context: In simpler words, the one and a half palaces have advanced from the beginning stage to the intermediate one that comes before the 'final product', symbolizing the changes of Akira's state of mind, so to say. Shadow Akechi fears that the PT would be able to do harm to the unstable state of the theater if he were to let them advance further, regardless if they're really able to do anything or not - the possibility is enough of a threat for him._
> 
> _Through Shadow Akechi we now know Goro's been sending the current leader of the PT funny, little messages. There were small hints littered throughout the last chapters regarding that (Makoto staring at her phone, ignoring a certain chat), but now we're somewhat in the clear. I wonder what Goro's planning?_
> 
> _For everyone asking why Shido didn't kill Goro yet: Akeshu started on Shido's palace later than the PT in canon, so the feeling of foreboding and danger came only right at his election / afterwards, and that prevents Shido from killing his only mean to get rid of that - as long as he still feels threatened by something he can't control, but Goro potentially could, he can't get rid of him, especially if he also still thinks Goro to be his loyal dog that won't turn against him (which his cognitive version inside of Shido proves)_
> 
> We've hit the point where I only have my outlines to guide me - I know how everything will end and what I want to write about, but a lot (not everything) until now has already been written beforehand and merely needed to be beta-read and edited again by me. Only sometimes did I need to throw something around completely. Chapter 19 until 26 will have to be actively written from 'scratch' so to say, so I'm unable to give you an accurate heads-up as to when I will update - they'll most likely drop random. I promise I will work hard on finishing this fanfiction since we're getting closer to the great finale, and I still want to see everyone's reaction towards it. And if things are going to work out, we might even get to see a bit of fanart from a capable artist for something related to the ending!
> 
>  **Thank you for everyone who's been sticking with this so far!** Akira POV in next chapter with some more dialogue instead of monologue. A real confrontation that doesn't just last a few seconds will happen very soon, too, so please look forward to it :)
> 
> [My (mostly) Akeshu twitter!](https://twitter.com/voraciousTash)


	19. draw our future

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmm... this chapter is ok? Probably could have been better despite all the editing and thinking I did. I hope it's still enjoyable to read, though! Once I got this entire fic done I'll probably edit it all over haha.
> 
> Thank you [BrownieQueen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrownieQueen/pseuds/BrownieQueen) for beta-reading, as always <3

Akira feels a bit out of tact with Arsene.

He's gotten more than adequate at controlling his persona through hours and hours of inexorable training, especially when using it separately. On its own and taking up a relatively small amount of concentration compared to the beginning, Arsene can take down shadows with notable ease, just like every other persona he currently has in his arsenal which are capable of offensive spells.

But lately, especially today, using Arsene feels just a little off.

Like in the furthest corner of his mind, his main persona doesn't really _want_ to move that way or cast a spell, hesitating, _resisting_ in the last split second so that Akira has to _push_ it over an invisible threshold by consciously focusing on the commands in his head he never needed to actively think about before.

The only explanation for that is palpably near – literally so because Goro just jumped back from whatever shadow he'd drilled his sword into, bringing the smell of leather and blood and lemongrass with him.

Akira himself is busy incinerating the shadows on his side with a Maragion, the heat and intensity from the spell surpassing that of any fire spells the monsters here could possibly hope to conjure.

Do his personas have a _problem_ with Goro like everybody else seems to have, too?

The sheer implications of such a thought make Akira a little mad, but it also gives him the necessary emotional boost to push his personas to the level they were before this entire dissonance issue within him started to surface.

It's not only limited to his persona, now that Akira thinks about it.

He just didn't notice it when they entered the ship.

How could he, when Goro's hands in his felt so warm and grounding, distracting him for the entirety of the train ride and walk to the diet building? But now that they're physically separated, Akira freely moving around, doing acrobatics and stunts which Goro doesn't chide him for anymore – his clothes feel a little different, too.

There doesn't seem to be a difference appearance-wise, or else Goro would have long said something. But it doesn't hinder the distant feeling of wrongness that scurries along his nerves like teasing licks of an inconsistent flame.

The usually smooth glide of his coat's leather gives way for a rougher sensation, and the same principle applies to his vest and pants, making him experience a shy sort of discomfort.

It's the reason why Akira forgoes his coat at some point during the middle of battle to at least regain some semblance of control over his concentration. The cool air in the hallways does feel refreshing, helps him clear his mind a little so he can focus on keeping up with Goro again.

The other immediately asks him if something is wrong, and the amount of concern in those red eyes just because he took off his coat and didn't renew it elicits a fond smile from him, one that doesn't falter as he instinctively ducks under the concentrated beam of a Kougaon Goro sends the shadow's way behind him.

Another time he might have debated skipping over the topic, convincing people he's alright because it wasn't something that really impacts his fighting ability as of now – but he knows Goro didn't ask out of polished courtesy like the detective is prone to do in public.

Unlike all the other people, Goro asks because he genuinely cares and wants to _listen_ to his answer.

Cares.

Even as he licks some splattered blood off his lips, sending Akira a telling look.

So once they've defeated the current shadows, Akira tells him he feels a little weird when using his persona instead of keeping it to himself, that his outfit drags across his skin just a tad differently than he's used to.

"Let's go to a safe room," Goro says with a voice that leaves no room for argument but is remarkably soft despite all the viciousness he pours into battle Akira appreciates the longer they fight together.

(Didn't he before?)

They go back to the last area. Once in the small, luxurious safe room full of plush armchairs and unnecessary decoration he'd been tempted to tear off on several occasions already, both let their masks simmer away, baring their slightly flushed faces from the constant running and fighting.

Goro's expression remains thoughtful as Akira starts to tell him about his personas and clothes. He takes one of Akira's bare arms in his hand, starts dragging his fingers across the revealed skin as if inspecting it for something that might relate to what he's being told.

Akira can't suppress the shiver at the sensation of Goro's gloves on his skin but reminds himself to concentrate on his words instead of the almost feather-like touches. Goro gives a small, knowing smirk when Akira's finished, squeezes around his shoulder once before gently tilting Akira's chin up, aligning their gazes.

Akira didn't notice his gaze had wandered downwards at some point in time, taking in the sheer amount of _white_ in Goro's outfit.

Other colors would suit him better, Akira thinks. 

"I'm surprised," Goro murmurs to him. His voice is a little raspy from all the profanities he shouts towards enemies in the battle but holds a vague tone Akira would call fascinated.

"You're still able to fight so well with your personas, even with Arsene."

Akira furrows his eyebrows at the sentence, scowling lightly when Goro attempts to smooth them.

"Shouldn't I be able to?"

"I don't think I need to tell you what's currently happening," Goro bemusedly says, crowding Akira against the table. "You already know. Think a little."

 _Thinking_ is remarkably low on his priority list at the moment.

There's a hand on his waist now, a thumb smoothing over Akira's vest like it debates sneaking between the buttons, all while Goro's expression remains perfectly calm, ruby eyes glittering with want and care and many other things.

"My… rebellion is changing?" Akira tentatively asks the first thing that came to his hazy mind. It comes a bit breathless, and Akira accepts Goro's advances by loosely wrapping his arms around Goro's neck.

It's hard to concentrate with Goro being so close in his proximity, but the heat engulfing him is comfortable, laps at the free expanse of his arms and face in lazy intervals that Akira feels his breath slowing down a little, becoming deeper.

Goro hums a soft, pleasant tune when Akira starts playing with the soft ends of his hair. It's become longer than Akira's used to - just like his own hair. Maybe they could cut it sometimes?

"Perhaps, but… I think it's something different."

Goro's now thumbing at his bottom lip, dragging his finger over the plump flesh. The motion soothes Akira's nerves as much as it serves for the heat around him to concentrate on specific points in his body. Akira suppresses the whine building in his throat, still hyperaware of where Goro is loosely holding his waist.

Akira melts against Goro's embrace as the other pulls him close, kissing him surprisingly softly. It makes Akira forget that his clothes are rubbing against him in all the wrong ways, that they didn't tear through shadows together a few minutes earlier, bathing in blood and screams alike.

However, pressed against him, Akira notices that Goro's outfit feels a little off, too.

"Your heart," Goro murmurs against his ear, nuzzling into Akira's neck. He wraps the arm around him tighter, like he doesn't want to let go. "I think it's your heart that's changing."

It's… his heart that changes?

Akira doesn't think he can comprehend the full meaning behind it all with Goro so close, slotting their bodies together like he wants to become one, but it doesn't matter anyway because he likes what it implies, coming from Goro's lips.

Akira applies pressure against his nape. Goro complies, pulls back to capture Akira's lips between his teeth this time.

And Akira thinks it's ok – whatever irritated him before, whatever hurts him, it all just fades into the background when Goro accepts him like this, kisses him even after having seen his ugliest sides before, in a way that Akira feels like he's really worth something, that even on the cruel ship of a corrupt politician he can _belong_ somewhere if only Goro is by his side.

* * *

As he's slicing through another barrage of shadows with ease, Akira remembers struggling with the shadows at first – clumsily trying to adapt what Robin Hood and Goro tried to teach him.

The first time Akira was subjected to the horrible feeling of standing on a crusader that doesn't care for anyone but its inhabitants, he mostly relied on Goro for the first hour of exploring the ship. He didn't do bad by any means, gradually began to get immersed into the feel of battle.

Akira thinks he even made Goro proud that day, but he feels frustration towards himself when thinking about what happened _after._

Akira can only apologize to him by doing his best to fall into the comfortable rhythm of fighting by each other's side.

And it's not the same one he had with Goro on the casino.

No, the current one they're adapting has a much faster beat to it, an aggressive tone fueling Akira's desire to fight from within his very heart, something that hasn't been there before.

Or maybe there has, and it's openly being cultivated for the first time – as much as Akira's personas and clothes feel different than usual, Akira feels less restricted in a sense, too, more possibilities open to him he doesn't know of yet.

It's essentially become a dance Goro leads while Akira does his best to follow, but with more and more opportunities for him to steal the reigns and gain control himself.

It never occurred to Akira how much easier it is to fight with only one person.

Distinctively Akira remembers fighting with more before – so many abilities to keep track of, people that were shouting for his name, people that needed protection, attention, _coordination,_ and everything at once. It was chaotic, more so initially, and Akira had to take the lead so often because no one seemed to get anything under control, neither the situation nor their own power.

Has he ever felt _safe,_ despite the quantity surrounding him?

Why did he keep so many around him in the first place?

With Goro, Akira only has one person to keep track of, and then he knows Goro is more than capable of taking care of himself.

Together they're more than just a well-oiled machine; a natural mechanism that pushes each other to new heights.

There's no fear tugging at Akira when Goro leaves his vision for one second or a minute, no need for any sort of communication aside from an occasional call of the other's name that always manages to get intentions across without actually speaking them.

There is no one else to disrupt this serene dynamic, either, aside from shadows they make quick work of anyway.

Fighting side by side with Goro is… an unbreakable alliance.

Mutual trust.

Akira barely needs to _think._

But between impressive swordsmanship and all-consuming spells, it's easy to forget that Goro carries a burden with him, too, despite his strong appearance and devastating power.

It's probably another reason why he's managed to deceive the public so easily, let only Akira ever get a grasp on what could possibly lie underneath after months of smokes and mirrors.

And Akira isn't delusional – no matter how high and mighty Goro sometimes seems, almost untouchable if not for him reaching out, offering Akira a hand, the confidence something Goro always wore like the suitcase attached to his hand – he's a lonely person who's only ever received superficial love from his fans, none from his father.

It sounded like the feelings for his mother were one of the few, real ones not marred by the bitterness that Goro harbors like something he can't get out, no matter how hard he'd try.

Already hurt beyond imagination at a young age, Goro quickly found the perfect distance to keep people away while feigning interest and making them feel worth it, never actually opening up. Akira was one of those people once, too, with the difference that he must have seemed to push a little more than others, making Goro recoil in return at the intensity of Akira, only to come back with a stronger force that quite literally swept Akira off his feet.

There are no words to describe how… powerful Akira feels, to be the only one Goro peels down his falls for, letting him see beneath the theater he plays for everyone else.

Letting him touch and feel, too.

Someone as strong and prideful and hurting as Goro paying him so much attention that Akira feels _drunk_ at times.

(Akira's heart still pounds at the memory of today's morning.)

To pay him back for all he's already done feels like a goal far out of his reach, but Akira will try his hardest, starting with backing up Goro in his quest for vengeance.

"Die, die, DIE, DIE!"

Akira sends a quick Tarukaja and Rakukaja Goro's way, watching him hack away at the legs of the Shadow Cleaner. Robin Hood is in close range for once, preventing the shadow from driving its grotesque swallow into Goro by forcefully gripping the weapon and applying pressure in the opposed direction.

For this battle, Akira's adapted the supportive role in the back, letting Goro charge in without anything to worry about aside from his own body.

Goro's combos resemble more hack and slash than thoughtful technique, but it's done a good amount of damage to the shadow despite his physical resistance as he jumps back - Robin Hood isn't able to fend off the brute strength of the Shadow Cleaner any longer.

"Bastard," Goro growls, smudging red on his lips as he wipes the blood away. His eyes are concentrated on the next spell the shadow is preparing, and something flutters within Akira. Seeing Goro this loose in a different way never fails to send a tingle of heat through Akira's body.

He wonders if this is how Goro feels whenever Akira is the one plunging his dagger inside a shadow with a maniacal grin on his face he never noticed has formed until Goro amusedly points it out.

They briefly look at each other, nodding.

Akira switches back to Arsene, overriding the enemies' Maeigaon with a more powerful version. The Shadow Cleaner howls in frustration, taking some light arrows into his shoulder from Robin Hood in favor of debuffing Akira with a Rakunda.

The shadow is already charging up a Myriad Slash to follow up and make use of Akira's decreased defense, but Goro is faster than that, already in his proximity again to blow up a devastating close range Kougaon in his face.

Despite Goro's superior speed, however, the Shadow Cleaner had just the tiniest amount of more time to prepare, and Akira sees him switching focus in the last second.

"Goro!" Akira shouts.

Goro doesn't hesitate or questions his call for even a moment, canceling his spell immediately in favor of switching personas to start going for a Makarakarn instead.

Offensive spells cast by an ally usually don't affect teammates, but it's a different matter if said spells surpass certain levels of power that your cognition is automatically viewing it as a threat, regardless of who casts the ability.

Already having charged the magic beforehand, Arsene's Agydyne instantly bathes nearly the entire room in a sea of blazing flames, successfully intercepting the Myriad Slashes that would have come Goro's way if he didn't dodge.

It licks at the edges of the walls, quickly melting metal and whatever it could reach. The fire itself resembles a light orange instead of the usual, piercing crimson.

Akira bathes in the wall of heat and the scream hitting him a second later, the same time he hears Goro letting out a loud cackle.

"That's right, _burn_ like the piece of shit you are!"

Goro's wide eyes reflect the flames bending around him in an almost poetic way, and Akira can't help but smile at the blatant joy he sees in them.

The Agydyne clears, revealing the Shadow Cleaner – still alive due to his rather impressive tenacity and stamina, but barely hanging on, having dropped onto the ground on one knee. His entire skin has burned to an indistinguishable black, and his weapon has melted to the ground. Not a complete puddle, but something visibly misshaped and unusable.

Goro turns his head towards Akira. 

_Spells or physical attacks?_

Akira extends his hand as a response.

Goro mirrors his gesture almost immediately, and Akira feels the energy around them concentrate in a way that has become deliciously familiar to them.

"Eiagon!"

"Kouagaon!"

This time, the Shadow Cleaner stands no chance.

He deteriorates in a chaos of curse and holy magic that should have canceled each other out, and Akira walks closer to where the Shadow stood as soon as it's over, the rush of the synchronized attack still fluttering in his stomach.

Goro is faster than him, bending down to pick up the singed letter.

Akira sighs, feels Arsene going back inside of him with a slight tearing sensation. His mask flickers back into place, which he promptly pushes up to his hair, not liking the way it obscures his face when talking with Goro.

"What a pain in the ass," Goro mutters, tucking the piece of paper into his pocket in a manner that suggests it personally offended him.

Akira hums. "Shall we head back, now that we got all of the letters?"

"I don't get why I need them in the first place," Goro bitterly replies, a scowl on his face that becomes more visible as he moves his own mask away from his face.

Goro is supposed to be one of Shido's closest members, yet he needs invitations like anyone outsider.

_Unwanted._

It doesn't matter that Goro grovels beneath Shido's feet solely for his revenge – the fact that Shido takes all Goro did for him for granted and thinks him to be a mere tool at his disposal is beyond disgusting.

Goro, reduced to a _tool._

_Always trying your best, but it never being enough._

Flares of anger singe Akira's insides.

They go back, crossing the engine room in the process. Akira sees the extensive, prominent line cutting it in half in the middle, something he ignored before. A distant feeling of deja-vu washes over him.

There's some kind of button at the entrance, too, but a different kind of sensation makes his step falter momentarily, neck prickling.

Akira looks back over his shoulder, scanning the metal walls.

"What is it?" Goro asks.

Akira narrows his eyes, but there's nothing in sight and it's just as empty as before. So he shakes his head, directs his eyes back to the front.

"Thought I sensed something. Most likely my imagination."

  
  
  


The main hall is as blinding as ever. They watch as the five heavy locks click into place before disappearing, giving way to another lobby with an extravagant elevator.

There's a safe room towards the side as well, and Akira knows it's an indicator for the upcoming boss battle.

Next to him, Goro's hand twitches. His calm and precise aura has warped into something sharper, more dangerous the second the heavy, golden door opened. Close to imperceptible if not for the fact that Akira had spent the last months exclusively with him.

Since Goro's mask is still pushed away from his face, Akira can see what reminds him of his earlier Agydyne – a crimson heat, trained solely on what would await them.

Burning with the intent to annihilate.

The fire evaporates – no, gets forcefully coerced, and Goro's eyes turn to him, catching him staring.

"See something you like?" Goro purrs. It's forced, not like the smooth glide over his skin like earlier.

Akira steps a bit closer. "Remember what we talked about this morning?"

He wants to take Goro's face into his hands, but Akira kind of wants to get through this without physical contact to distract them.

"I wouldn't forget," Goro says, chuckling hoarsely, perhaps a little less pained.

He's lost so much in the world, unfathomable things, his youth, most of his life, the remains of it standing before him.

And despite all Goro- _loves_ him.

The word still echoes in reverb in Akira's mind, a prayer that's being chanted over and over whenever Akira thinks about it.

Who- who is he to deny Goro what he's been longing for all this time?

"Goro," Akira mumbles. Sees something crumble. "What did you want to do after Shido dies?"

"I notice your use of past tense."

Akira hums.

Goro fully turns to him, tilting his head so that his bangs shift from one side of his face to the other. Like a curtain only Akira is privy to push aside.

"Entertain me."

He wants Akira to answer the question, then?

"Nothing."

"A euphemism, but you're not wrong." Goro puts a hand to his chin, eyes dark and light at the same time – it's hard to tell with the lamps and gold reflecting from everywhere. Akira prefers the dimmed lighting in his apartment.

"If revenge made up my entire being, then what would be left of me if it's gone? There would be nothing to sustain me."

"A lonely reality," Akira comments.

"One perceives most truths through other people," Goro continues. "it's basically the foundation for your perspective on reality. But if you manage to break out of that, realize that you actually _can_ see yourself without the need of other people, it changes something."

"And the slightest difference will change the world inside your mind," Akira finishes.

He feels like this a little, too. When Goro is doing so much as taking his hand, the world feels a little less harsh, a little less cruel and wanting.

Like everything suddenly becomes bearable and he doesn't have to worry anymore.

Goro makes a pleased sound like he's proud of Akira.

"It's painfully cliché to say this, but meeting you was… some sort of trigger. Wanting a life together with you, wanting to _not_ cease to exist after Shido is one of the changes our continuous encounters caused."

"But this," Akira gestures around them, "is still something you have to do?"

"Yes."

"Many people are going to cry if you walk on this path."

"Many people already did."

"Goro," Akira says, then stops, collecting himself a little. It's hard to express with words what he wants to say. "The notion of uprooting an entire society is… a frightening one. I know you won't stop after Shido."

He's _heard_ and _seen_ Goro this morning, pouring out his heart until it felt like Akira could taste blood in his mouth that isn't his own.

Akira accepted him. 

"It almost seems like an impossible task, even considering our Metaverse abilities. But if anyone can do it – I'm sure it's you," Akira remarks with a telling look. 

Goro possesses a conviction that would be frightening to most people, but not to Akira. 

"You talk like you won't help me," Goro says, eyebrows drawing together. He'd look afraid, Akira thinks, if not for what they already shared. Now, Goro's just a little confused, clearly not understanding what he's trying to say. 

"Not in the literal sense," Akira explains. "What you want to do is something that I don't think _I_ am able to do."

Akira doesn't like pain. It's as simple as that, and inflicting it even to people who deserve it still doesn't sit well with him.

But the notion of doing that for someone else other than him makes it a lot easier. 

"However, what I _can_ do is staying by your side."

Goro makes a confused sound. "...What do you mean?"

Any other day, Akira would have probably teased the detective for asking that question. He gives a soft laugh, feels the fabric of his vest rubbing against his skin when he shifts his weight.

How does one convey all the thoughts in their head? Is it even possible, to bring something so intangible and trivial as _want_ or _longing_ or _warmth_ to life?

"Making sure you don't get hurt. Making sure to take care of you, just like you're taking care of me."

Goro looks surprised – genuinely caught off-guard, wide eyes reflecting Akira's own expression.

He'd been uncertain, but now Akira knows no one said these kinds of words to Goro before.

(Or someone did and they didn't mean it.)

"If you want to," Akira murmurs, sliding up against him, taking Goro's hand in his to plant a soft kiss on a fingertip, "I can be anything you need me to be. I'll be your gun, I'll be your support in the back-lines, I'll be someone you can always go back to when it _does_ get too much."

Uncomfortable dissonance briefly splits his consciousness, followed by a resonating crack, but it quickly gets flooded by Goro's lips on his.

Akira sighs into the kiss, feeling another knot untangle within him.

"You're- always like this," Goro murmurs once he pulled away, and the fascination in his eyes couldn't have been clearer. "When I think I begin grasping the concept of you, you always surprise me."

Akira tilts his head and makes a questioning noise. There's still one gloved hand on his cheek as if it's caressing something incredibly fragile.

He doesn't really feel fragile, actually.

He feels… _powerful._

Like they just shared an unspoken promise and the effects of it strengthen him anyway. 

"Is that good or bad?"

"It's exhilarating." Goro entwines their fingers, pulls Akira flush against him. Not with heat, but with comfort and familiarity. "It's what made you interesting in the first place, the ability to surprise and exceed my expectations."

"And what did you expect?"

"Something else," Goro merely says, laughing at Akira's pout when it becomes clear he won't elaborate.

Maybe another time? Akira does want to know what Goro thought he would have done or said instead.

Goro's face grows a little more serious but no less caring. The fire in his eyes has been calmed into glinting ambers, and Akira could probably stare into them for a very long time. 

"Let's head home for now. We'll fight tomorrow when we're at full strength."

"Tomorrow is Christmas eve," Akira says, slipping away from Goro but keeping their hands locked. He likes the warmth the little, physical contact emits, even through two gloves. 

Akira's never gotten an actual Christmas presents from his parents aside from heartless papers accounting to nothing, can't remember if he hung around his friends enough for them to care about a Christmas present.

(Maybe Akira didn't make enough of an effort, too.)

Goro smirks at him. "Why did you think I picked this date?"

"He's going to have a very nice Christmas present," Akira laughs.

The look Goro sends him is- fond. It makes Akira's laugh melt into a soft smile he knows crinkles his eyes.

"The best," Goro warmly confirms. 

Gripping his hand just a bit tighter, never letting go at the entrance, never letting go in the train, never letting go until they're at his apartment.

###  December 24th, Saturday (Christmas eve)

Yusuke remembers how he spent Christmas eves with Madarame.

They never did something that he would feel guilty treasuring the memory of – it was mostly lavish dinners he could indulge in for once, followed by Yusuke using the distinctive atmosphere to create something on canvas right in front of Madarame's eyes.

(Sometimes Madarame was out for business and galas as well, places Yusuke couldn't accompany him to. Or wasn't allowed to; he never learned.)

Madarame would comment every so often, question Yusuke's thought progress and make him re-evaluate what he's more or less consciously attempting to bring to life with simple strokes of a brush.

Madarame on his own was never talented, the reason he took his pupil's work for himself. But he understood the theory of it, how to get each and every one he supposedly _taught_ to think beyond the simple creation progress.

It's similar to what Akira did for him, now that Yusuke thinks about it, with the difference that back then, Yusuke had never been able to concentrate on the hidden value behind Madarame's spiel because he'd always known he was being used.

Yusuke just… refused to acknowledge it.

That's why this distant sensation always tugging at Yusuke's senses whenever foreign Christmas sounds would play throughout the room, a feeling of foreboding and _wrongness_. That what he'd been doing, sitting diligently there and listening to Madarame talk about his latest success regarding the winter theme they've (Yusuke) picked up, wasn't right.

Yusuke thought it'd never repeat the moment Madarame's heart changed and Akira guided him through the darkness after, and yet the naivety he swore to discard is once again proving him wrong.

Leblanc is sparsely decorated, but there is delicious food on the table, the appetizing smell going throughout the entire room. Almost every other Phantom Thief member is here, sprawled across the café in their usual fashion, all with thick winter clothing to combat the cold.

Some hastily wrapped presents are on the counter table, too, and despite how their bows shine and glitter with the orange sun filtering through the windows at the front, it feels incredibly dull to Yusuke, like everything else does.

Something that should not be possible because Yusuke has visual proof that it _isn't._

It's Christmas eve, and there are millions of households celebrating this day, whether for religious practice or for the reason of getting together. Even Leblanc, with its not so typical decoration, would fit into the picture more or less perfectly.

Yusuke thinks that this imperfection would make it the perfect Christmas eve. If he were to see a picture of this very scenery, he's sure he'd praise it, point out the joyous atmosphere, the liveliness, and the warmth it radiates for not being as immaculate as others.

(If he were to ignore everyone's face.)

Yusuke never knew how different scenery would feel if there's even the slightest twist in circumstances – an invisibly weighing everyone down, twisting the atmosphere that looks heartwarming into something sharp and icy, hard to breathe in.

Well, he _did_ know. It's like Christmas eve with Madarame, with the difference that thanks to Akira, Yusuke is able to consciously be aware of this phenomenon without anything holding him back now. 

Akira missing is the large, gaping hole everyone stares into. Ryuji is back, which helps, but as of now, Futaba has been coped inside of Sojiro's house for more than a day – refusing to open the door to anyone, even Morgana, sparsely answering messages.

The most she typed was when she notified the thieves they could go to Akechi's palace unhindered, emphasizing Akechi was rather _preoccupied._

It rose suspicion to what exactly Akechi had been doing – most likely involving Akira, given her drastic change in behavior. 

Futaba barely elaborated anything, and it made everyone worry. Up until now, they've only speculated what happened since they knew that forcing Futaba in her fragile state of whatever she witnessed would push her too much.

She needs to come out of her shell by herself, share what she's seen that day because despite all the creativity Yusuke has, his head comes up with blank scenarios as to what could Akechi have done that it shocked her this much. 

He couldn't have killed him or overly hurt him in real-life – that Futaba would have told them, he's sure of.

Forced sex was another theory, one they thought Akechi to be more than capable of.

Everybody knew Futaba hadn't been actively present that day when Akechi kidnapped Akira and merely heard what had been going on, much like Morgana – _seeing_ such a thing actually play out in reality instead of a Metaverse is anything but a healthy experience. 

Yusuke clenches his hands at the notion, feels rage simmer within him.

Akechi defiling Akira _again-_ nothing but an abhorrent thought.

The image of Akechi and Akira huddled together, walking down the streets with one soft, one lax smile-

No.

Akira taught him to look beyond the second and third layers of things, but he _can't_ imagine that whatever he saw could be rooted in something that substantial.

Akira- Akira may have _loved_ Akechi at some point in time, but there is absolutely no way such feelings could nurture in the toxic environment Akechi lays out for him.

Yusuke wonders how many other pictures he's seen, how many paintings he's created that would feel different if he were to experience the world himself instead of simply bringing it to a canvas.

How many he might have misinterpreted and how many he thought he did.

Perhaps Yusuke's never gotten over his fears like he thought he did.

"Have we," Ann starts, faltering right after.

She looks worn, tired, just like the rest of them.

"Did we go wrong somewhere?"

They have always been talking about what to do. How to proceed, how to work around Akechi, how to trick him or overcome some obstacles. Few times have they stopped to breathe, collect themselves to look back on their own actions.

Yusuke knows it's easiest to avert one's eyes and seek the blame on others because _admitting_ faults and mistakes means being vulnerable and not perfect. At times, Yusuke is no different from his own works.

But it's hard to deny what might possibly be true when you're being told directly. Yusuke doesn't know if it came from a manifestation of dark desires that made it better or worse.

The most gratifying thing is probably connected to _how_ Shadow Akechi told them in sneers and barely disguised disgust that their friendship is doing more harm than good.

Shadow Akechi had simply looked… sure. He'd been more than arrogant, physically looked down on everybody from his higher position, but spoke in a voice that made Yusuke want to _believe_ him solely for the confidence he displayed.

Shadow Akechi had insulted and called them out like he was stating empiric _facts_ instead of something he was merely convinced of.

"I don't know," Morgana says. He's curled up on Ann's lap, immobile. He didn't protest when Ann put a small Christmas hat on him, probably to cheer her up a little. Yusuke doesn't know if it worked. It looks more than lackluster.

"We've tried everything, but it just feels..."

It's almost ironic because _clearly_ , something changed in Akechi's theater. The blue Yusuke always finds so hauntingly beautiful had almost completely overtaken it, and it started to _flow_ as well, to pulsate, to shine with an intent no one could figure out in the confinement of Akechi's theater.

Not to mention that Shadow Akechi showed up, too, hindered them from progressing – it was obvious they made progress, that they simply need to be prepared the next time they'd face Shadow Akechi because they hadn't anticipated him being able to summon two personas simultaneously.

Something they honestly expected, but something that'd been lost in heated emotions when confronting the Shadow.

Theory often doesn't match up to reality, as well.

A different kind of barrier has surfaced for the Phantom Thieves since then that doesn't have to do with Akechi himself.

Doubt.

"His Shadow accused us of our friendship being a burden to him," Yusuke murmurs.

Ryuji looks at him rather accusingly, too. "Don't tell me you're _buying_ whatever that bastard said?!"

They break out in a discussion not in line with the festivities around them again. Yusuke isn't really listening, too busy staring at the turkey Sojiro had somehow conjured that looks impossibly enticing, and yet Yusuke's appetite for food has never been this low.

Everybody is talking about the same issue Yusuke himself had weeks ago – becoming aware one by one how much Akira did for them, how less they did for him in return. How Akechi could possibly play into everything _aside_ from betraying them, murdering Akira, raping and kidnapping him.

What's left are terrifying options, and no one wants to speak them out aloud.

Yusuke can't find it in himself to contribute, words laying in his stomach like heavy stones. For now, he's content listening.

"But isn't it just a habit then? I mean, I kinda laze around my home all the time aside from doing sports," Ryuji says. "Or how Yusuke paints art all day. What's so bad about him helping everybody?"

"Technically, there isn't something bad about it," Makoto answers.

She looks possibly the worst out of everyone, dark circles marring her face and slightly sunken cheeks. This ordeal must affect her more than they anticipated, but solving it is precisely what they're all trying to do now.

"But if it's less of a habit, and more of a… _need,_ then it might be problematic."

"Then why- then why didn't he stop? Why didn't he say anything?" Ann sounds frustrated.

Makoto rubs her eyes tiredly before answering. "Because he couldn't."

Her face is positively grim now. She's the only one who'd eaten more than a few bites, too, and that seems to be more out of habit than conscious action. Next to her, Ann prevents Makoto from picking up another bite by laying a hand on hers – she blinks, didn't realize she'd been essentially stabbing the plate instead of the vegetables.

"He couldn't do it himself, didn't know how to. Too used to do the things he always does – so he hoped for us to notice it instead." A hollow laugh. "And we- and we never noticed. Too selfish. Too..."

She looks like she's on the verge of crying, and the others don't look much more comfortable, either.

They're missing the point.

"But Akechi did," Haru breathes. Quietly, next to Yusuke, who's the only one who heard it, judging by how no one turns to pay her any attention.

Most of them are missing the point, Yusuke corrects himself.

Yusuke opens his mouth, some words finally forming in his throat without getting blocked when the mindless, wispy Christmas music from the TV changes to the one that announces the news.

Ryuji makes a sound. "Boss, can we turn that off?"

Sojiro, who's been quiet behind the counter, smoking inside Leblanc as he listened to them talk, flicks the ashes away and shakes his head. "No. You should all take a break from the discussion and listen to this instead. If I remember right, Shido is going to hold some kind of speech."

Eyebrows furrow. Yusuke hadn't been aware of it, too – Akira usually told him of such things.

"A Christmas eve speech? Wasn't the last one like… urgh, so many years ago?" Ryuji asks, audibly confused.

"That's exactly why," Sojiro grunts. "He wants to reintroduce the concept and make it a tradition."

"So everyone whose TV is on will remember his voice when opening presents and enjoying the festivities," Makoto spits. "What a horrible Christmas."

To use the holiness of such festivity for something as crude as _this,_ even if Christmas Eve may not hold as much importance in Japan than other countries-

A sacrilege.

No one has a better idea or wants to avert their eyes, though.

So the Phantom Thieves wait, patiently sit in Leblanc, Christmas dinner and decoration all around them without anyone paying attention to it. Some other news come up first, but after a few reports and a few mindless ads, it's inevitable – only for it to come to an abrupt halt.

"We apologize for the inconvenience," a female voice says, not matching the supposedly live footage of an empty desk with a neutral background. "However, it seems like the speech is going to get delayed. We-"

"Isn't this supposed to be prerecorded material?" Haru asks, furrowing her eyebrows. "My father did it all the time, too. Prerecording because he didn't have much time and wanted everything to go smoothly."

"Well, maybe Shido is so busy he can't even prerecord. Or just really wants to be live. But man, I somehow don't have a good feeling about this."

Morgana looks up at Ryuji. "You think it's related to Akechi?"

But they had already made it clear Akechi is _supporting_ Shido instead of trying to harm him. And yet, despite missing proofs and proper connection, the overall _sound_ or image it's able to conjure inside of Yusuke's head doesn't create conflict within him.

It's strange - that this option still seems possible despite all the evidence speaking against it. 

The door bursts open, and all heads turn.

Yusuke's eyes widen as he sees Futaba in the door frame, looking impossibly small and frail, a blanket around her.

Everyone immediately rushes to her, but Futaba flinches away, and they stop before they can get to her.

"Futaba!"

"Are you alright? What happened-"

"Futaba," Yusuke asks with as much gentleness as he can muster. She looks up, but Yusuke has the feeling she doesn't see him.

Her eyes are red and swollen and remnants and terribly empty.

With the way she's shaking a little, drawing the blanket tighter around here, one could think she used all the energy she had to make it to LeBlanc.

"They're clearing Shido's palace right now," she finally breathes out, voice barely above a whisper, yet freezing the air around them to impossibly cold degrees that Yusuke just feels _numb._

"Akechi and A-Akira- they're going to kill him."

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Check out[this lovely artwork](https://twitter.com/angelsxbunnyxx/status/1335679357185101825) by [@angelsxbunnyxx](https://twitter.com/angelsxbunnyxx) for their interpretation of a scene in chapter 17! And also [this wonderful piece](https://www.instagram.com/p/CIemtorlIL0/?igshid=5fdu299ukhqp) by [gabbyslovelymisfits](https://www.instagram.com/gabbyslovelymisfits/) for one of my favorite scenes in chapter 10! Thank you so much, really!**
> 
> _regarding the context: I don't think anyone really questioned that, but in case you did wonder how the PT only saw Akira and Goro leaving the apartment for Shido's palace specifically only once (it's implied that Akeshu have been steadily chipping Shido's palace apart in their free time), it's because Goro's just making them exit at a different part of his palace. If he were to go with Akira to their room, they'd appear inside his apartment. If he goes to the outer layers, they'd appear outside of it and so on. I hope that makes sense haha._
> 
> _I also have no idea if the shadow cleaner has physical resistance, but ehh.._
> 
> _Also, I've noticed I kept referring to holy spells as light spells. Honestly I've done that so many times by now, I'll just let it be haha. It's almost the same, anyway._
> 
> _The 'Christmas eve' scene is basically the PT and Sojiro trying to bring some resemblance of normality into their life and miserably failing at it._
> 
> Thank you for your patience with the slow updates! I have something small (well, 5k) for Christmas though and I'm very busy preparing more or less good stuff for the Topgoro week that'll be incoming in January.
> 
> **I'd love to hear your thoughts! But first and foremost, thank you for reading <3!**
> 
> [My (mostly) Akeshu twitter!](https://twitter.com/voraciousTash)


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